Things They Can't See When They Look at Him
by Depudor
Summary: When Joan makes Adam take her to a trendy restaurant across town for their first real date, the journey home takes them to a dark and dangerous place. Chapters 5 and 6 added. Complete.
1. What Are You Wearing?

**Summary:** When Joan makes Adam take her to a trendy restaurant across town for their first official date, the journey home takes them to a dark and dangerous place. This is based on a true story I saw on 60 Minutes when I was kid, which must have really shaken me because I never forgot it.

**Disclaimer:** These characters are the exclusive property of Barbara Hall, CBS, and Sony Television. The following story is for entertainment purposes only, and I do not stand to profit financially from it in any way whatsoever, as my parents point out every week when they call.

**Spoilers:** Set after episode 22 "The Gift." This is sort of an alternate season finale, since I hate season finales because they end with cliffhangers that leave the universe in a state of uncertainty and make it very difficult to write fic.

**Rated**: PG-13 for violence, drug references, adult situations, and mild language.

* * *

Why is June 21st considered the first day of summer when the two things that really determine summerness are school getting out and, more importantly, the first day it's hot enough to lay out in the back yard? Technicalities aside, she had her lemonade; she had her headphones; the sun was shining; and the weather report said the temperature would hit 80 by noon.

It was summer, and Joan Girardi was sunbathing.

Stretched out on her lawn chair, she grabbed the bottle of tanning lotion and rubbed its creamy coolness over her soon-to-not-be-creamy skin. The smell of cocoa butter that wafted over her brought with it happy memories of carefree days, and every cell in her body seemed to relax. The bikini didn't quite fit as well as she'd hoped, but here in the privacy of her own back yard, it didn't matter. The more tan skin, the better. In fact… why have tan lines on your shoulders? She slid the bikini straps off, down over her arms, and tucked them into the sides of her top.

"Joan," a male voice called.

Joan yelped as she bolted upright and looked at who was walking toward her across the lawn.

It was a guy. It was _that_ guy. The cute one, the one who reminded her of a cross between Christian Slater and that guy who died on the sidewalk outside that club owned by Johnny Depp. It took her a moment to recognize him, because he was wearing Ray-Bans and had swapped the corduroy jacket for a Cuban shirt that looked like something Frank Sinatra had worn in a movie her father liked. Yep, it was that guy. Except, of course, that it wasn't a guy at all.

It was God.

He walked up to her, a small book in his right hand.

"What are you doing here?" Joan hissed, trying to keep her voice low. It was only then that she realized that her top was falling off. Woops. Losing the straps, not a good idea. She snatched her towel and held it to her chest.

God shrugged. "There's really no reason to cover yourself when I walk up. I can see you all the time."

"Yeah, but my mom doesn't know that, and she could look out the window any moment. Plus, ew! And why are you in my yard?"

"You didn't put on the sunscreen that you promised your mother you would."

"Shugh, it's like SPF 80. I might as well tan in the basement. And if you came here just to tell me to wear sunscreen, maybe you should invent a sun that doesn't poison us with UV rays."

"You know, no life on earth could survive without the sun, yet you people find something to complain about."

"Whatever. I almost didn't recognize you. You look different."

"I always look different. That's the idea."

"No, but I mean, this time you're the same but different.  Same body, different outfit."

"What's in an outfit?  Appearances are deceptive, Joan. I've taught you to look beyond them. How you see me has nothing to do with what I am. And yet you insist on noticing how I look."

"Great, it's lecture time. Noticing appearances is, like, human nature."

"The lesser side of human nature, yes, when it's not just noticing appearances but evaluating them and forming judgments. It's often just laziness. Your father would call it 'profiling.'"

"What does my father have to do with this?"

"He's been fighting it in the police department for years. Racial profiling is its most insidious form. An officer sees a young African-American man in a brand new BMW, and he assumes it must be stolen."

"So you want me to help stop racial profiling? I just wanted one day to relax and lie in the sun!"

"I'd love it if you helped stop racial profiling, but that's not why I'm here. I just want you to look at this." God handed her the book he was holding.

She glanced at the cover: _Fine Dining – Arcadia_. "What's this for?"

"It'll help you pick a romantic spot for dinner."

"Are you asking me out? Because, I know I said I thought you were hot, but I'm with Adam now." She gave him a smirk.

"Very good, Joan. That sardonic wit of yours is developing nicely. And I do want you to go on a date. With Adam."

Joan opened the book and skimmed a page. "I don't think Adam can afford fine dining."

"Who says Adam has to pay? If you ask him out, _you_ should pay."

"Wow. God is a feminist. In all the bad ways."

God stood up and smiled down at Joan. "Pay, don't pay. But you've been thinking that it's time you and Adam went on a real date."

"Unchallenged. But what's the catch?"

God just smiled. Of course he wasn't going to tell her.

Joan looked up at the sky, which was darkening in the north. "Hey, it'd be great if I had a nice little tan when Adam and I hit the town. Think you can make those clouds disappear?"

"You know I won't do that."

"Why not? You can't tell me clouds have free will."

"I'm not going to alter the meteorological course of the planet, Joan. The last time I did that… Well, let's just say, I've seen your boat-building skills."

* * *

Still in her bikini, Joan tossed the phone back and forth as she paced across the living room. Finally, she sorted the words out in her head and dialed Adam's number.

"Hello?" his soft voice answered.

"Hey, Adam, it's me."

"Jane… Hi." An energy lifted his tone, and it made Joan smile that he sounded so happy to hear her voice. "What's up?"

"I was just thinking…"

"Cool."

"No, Adam, there's more."

"I know. I just thought that was cool, that you were just thinking, and it made you want to call me."

"That's so sweet. And speaking of sweet, have you ever had Bananas Foster?"

"Um… I don't think so."

Joan opened the restaurant guide to a dog-eared page. "Well, the Bananas Foster gets five stars at Cedar Bistro. Apparently, it's like the best dessert in Arcadia."

Silence. And then, "OK."

Joan recognized that as his 'You're losing me' voice, so she cut to the point. "I want to go on a date, Adam. A real date. Like dinner and a movie date."

"Chah, Jane. If it's you and me, it's a real date. Why does food have to get involved?"

"I want to go out. Someplace nice."

"We could go to the art museum. The museum is nice."

"Any place that's a destination for a field trip is by definition not a hot spot."

"I don't know, Jane. I want to take you out, but fancy restaurants aren't really my scene. Getting all dressed up…"

"It won't be dressy. I'll take 'jacket required' off the list. I'll find something quiet and romantic and we can go to a movie afterwards. We can even go see one of those lame art films you like. It'll be like a trade-off, see? Couples compromise."

After another long pause, Adam replied, "If it's important to you, I'm in. And we don't have to see any art movies, which really aren't lame, by the way."

"Sorry about the 'lame.' So, Saturday?"

"It's a date, yo."

* * *

So that left three days to find a first serious date outfit. That should have been enough, right? But Saturday rolled around so quickly, it found Joan's bed buried under a pile of clothes that just weren't quite right.

As she stood before her bedroom mirror, Joan held up the red skirt and pulled it against her hips. It looked like it still fit. But maybe that was too dressy, she thought. It might be better to wear a nice pair of jeans, maybe the AG's she'd scored at the second-hand store. Jeans would send a message to Adam that this wasn't going to be fancy, and maybe that would take some of the pressure off, whereas the tight red skirt would send a different message...

"That your girlfriend's a ho," Joan said aloud. _Hmm…. maybe…_ "No!" _Jeans it is_.

With the last of the important decisions behind her, Joan tossed the skirt in the discard pile on the bed and tromped back to the closet one last time. Shoes. The shoes she wanted to wear wouldn't work with jeans. She picked up the jeweled sandals and wondered if Kate Bosworth went through this when she was getting ready for a date with Orlando Bloom. Orlando Bloom, she decided, was probably easier to dress for than Adam Rove. Because when you're dressing up for the Vanity Fair party, you don't have to worry if your outfit is too dressy for your boyfriend's hoodie.

That had been the subject of their last conversation that morning, when Joan had assured Adam that the restaurant was hoodie-friendly. She did not want to pull an Iris and start dictating his fashion choices. Joan wrinkled her nose as she thought of those hideous vintage shirts. Poor Iris; those shirts were her Achilles' heel, the thing that made Adam realize he was with the wrong girl. With that in mind, Joan decided she would remember the shirts fondly from there on out.

She stepped over to the mirror again and went in for her close-up. Not too much make-up, skin a little dewy but not shiny. Very J-Lo. Lips should be shiny, though, so she put on a little more gloss. "No, wait--" She'd probably want to kiss Adam as soon as he arrived, and the gloss was sticky, and then he'd be glossy, and then her parents would come out to say hello and she and Adam would both be glossy, and how would that look?

She was trying to wipe off some of the gloss when she heard the knock at the front door.

"I'll get it!!!" she screamed, but her legs could not carry her down the stairs fast enough to beat her father to the door.

"Adam," Will announced as he opened the door, as if he didn't already know who it would be. As if he hadn't been waiting on the couch for this very moment.

Adam smiled. "Chief Girardi."

Joan stopped on the stairs and cringed.

Will nodded slowly, sadly. "I'm not actually the Chief anymore, Adam."

"Oh, right. Sorry."

"You can call me Detective Girardi, or just Mr. Girardi."

Adam continued to stand awkwardly in the doorway. "Sure, um, which one do you prefer?"

Joan was about to move in to help him when her mother approached the doorway with a big smile. "Good evening, Adam!"

"Hi, Mrs. Girardi," Adam replied.

Not one to leave a question hanging, Will concluded, "Why don't we make it simple and go with 'Mr. Girardi.' It goes well with 'Mrs. Girardi.'"

Adam nodded. "Symmetry, yo. I like."

Helen shook her head at her husband and beckoned Adam inside. "Come on in. I don't know where Joan is."

"She's right behind you."  Adam pointed in her direction.

Her parents turned around. "And there she is," said Helen.

When her parents finally moved out of the way, Joan could see that Adam was indeed looking like himself, right down to the knit cap on his head. Her eyes met his, and they shared a smile. She noticed that he was holding something, a box, and he stepped up to her and handed it to her.

"For you," he said. "For our first official date."

It hadn't occurred to her that he would bring her flowers. She didn't know why; Adam was always giving her things, things he'd found, things he'd made. And so it shouldn't have surprised her that he brought her something that was a combination of all these things.

It was a shallow wooden box, about a foot wide and divided into compartments, like something Joan had seen at a Japanese restaurant. Each compartment contained something different: one was full of tiny white flowers, another was feathers, one contained rocks, another had more flowers, a deep purple this time, another compartment held glass beads, and the last was full of tiny paper tubes, and in each tube a blade of grass. Each compartment was a different size and shape, but the color of the contents fit together to form almost a mosaic. It was so amazing, Joan couldn't even find the words to express what she was feeling. But her mother could.

"Oh, Adam, how beautiful!" Helen cried, coming over to admire it. "Will, look at this."

"Nice," Will commented, unmoved. He continued to eye Adam carefully in the manner of a father who also happens to be a cop and who also knows that this young man has feelings of a romantic, i.e. sexual, nature toward his beloved sixteen-year-old daughter.

Joan looked up from the beautiful arrangement to see Adam's warm brown eyes smiling at her. Words still failed her, and so she leaned across the box and did what she never imagined in a million years she would do in front of her parents; she kissed him full on the mouth. Adam was clearly taken by surprise, but he kissed her back with open lips that tasted faintly of toothpaste.

"Ahem," Will coughed.

Joan turned and glared at her father. "We're out of here," she announced. She set the mixed media arrangement on a side table and took Adam's hand.

"Wait, you're leaving?" Will stammered.

"We're not eloping, Dad. We're just going out to dinner."

"What restaurant are you going to?"

"We're going _out_, and you're not giving anyone the third degree. You know Adam and you know me and everything's fine and I'll be home by eleven."

"Ten," her father countered.

"Mom!"

Helen interceded. "Eleven, Will. Ten is for school nights."

"I'll take good care of her, Detective Mr. Girardi," Adam called as Joan practically yanked him out the door and pulled it closed behind them.

Safely out on the porch, Joan moaned, "They're so beyond."

"I love your parents."

"Love them later. Let's go."

She walked down the steps, wanting to be alone with Adam and away from her parents' prying eyes as quickly as possible. It was early evening and still bright as day, and the air was warm and sweet, fragrant like summer. So far, the date was off to a great start, having escaped The Inquisition unscathed.

Joan looked at Adam and noticed that his normally pale skin was flushed. Had it been like that before, and she just hadn't noticed until they got out into the sunlight? Had her father's questions, or her impromptu kiss, embarrassed him to the point that he would blush? Had he been out in the sun all day? As she scrutinized him, Adam lifted a hand to wipe away a few beads of sweat that had gathered on his brow.

"Adam, are you OK?"

"Chah, I'm fine. It's just… warm."

"Yeah."

He gave her a quick kiss and said, "Let's go." As they headed over to his father's car, such a rarity that he was able to borrow it, he licked his lips and added, "I like that lip gloss. It tastes like bananas."

Joan beamed. Things couldn't get any better. She was on a real date with the boy she loved, and she didn't even have to drive.

* * *

The quiet and romantic part of the equation didn't quite pan out as Joan had hoped. The restaurant was crowded and loud, which, she realized, is what happens to restaurants that get really good reviews.

"Stupid restaurant guide," she muttered as they waited for their table.

Adam's attention was absorbed by the murals on the walls, rich-hued scenes of dancing couples in strange perspective that looked like they were falling out of the walls. Joan didn't mind that he was so quiet; she'd grown comfortable enough with him that she didn't have to fill every moment with chatter. They stood silently, holding hands. She leaned her head against his shoulder, and he lay his head against hers. His hat was off now, stuffed in the pocket of his hoodie, and Joan could feel the heat of his cheek even through her hair. It made her look up to scrutinize his face again.

"Adam, you're hot," she said.

"It's bakin' in here, yo. They need to crank the AC." He unwove his fingers from hers and wiped his sweating palm on his jeans. "Maybe we should wait outside."

She nodded, but the hostess was already approaching to tell them their table was ready.

* * *

Joan watched Adam carefully all through dinner, but if he wasn't feeling well, he put on a good show. There were moments when Joan glanced up from her penne pasta and thought he looked pained, but as soon as she caught his eye, he smiled and laughed or took her hand in his. Once he got up to use the restroom, and Joan thought he took an unusually long time for a guy, since they normally seem to get in and out of the bathroom pretty quickly. But when he came back he looked better, and Joan convinced herself that if he were sick, he would tell her. She wanted this date to be perfect, and she knew that Adam wanted that, too, and in the end she thought he might just be really nervous, and that could be the cause of it all.

The waitress cleared away the dishes and laid a dessert menu before them. Joan picked it up and scanned it.

"Yum... yum... and ohmigod, I have to try that." She looked up at Adam. "Too many choices! You want to split a flourless chocolate-hazelnut torte with me?"

"I'm pretty stuffed, Jane."

"Always save room for dessert. It's like a rule with me."

"I thought you wanted Bananas Foster."

"That was a different restaurant, sweetie."

Adam smiled a big smile and looked at her intently. "Are you having a good time?"

Joan made a mental note to call him 'sweetie' more often, since that really seemed to perk him up. "I'm having a fantastic time. What about you?"

"Yeah. This place rocks."

"Good." She stood up. "Order me the torte and a cappuccino. I'll be right back."

Adam nodded, and Joan headed off to the restroom. She wove around tables toward the back of the restaurant until she found a door featuring a picture of a woman stomping grapes. Pushing the door open, Joan found herself in one of the nicest bathrooms she had ever been in, with a pink marble counter and two stalls with dark wood doors. One stall was occupied, so she entered the other. She was just unzipping her jeans when she heard a woman's voice.

"How's the date going, Joan?"

It was coming from the stall next to her, or so she thought. Joan bent down to get a glimpse of God's feet, just to be sure it wasn't some disembodied voice. She saw a pair of black high-heeled boots.

Joan shook her head. "OK, this is weird, even for you."

"Do I look different?"

"I don't know. I can't see through walls like some deities I know."

"You can see me without looking at me. The part of me that you see with your eyes is the part that isn't real."

"OK, very deep, but can we get to the point so that I can pee? I'm having privacy issues here."

"You see Adam better than anyone, when you're willing to look."

"Is this about how appearances don't matter?"

"I never said that appearances don't matter. I said that appearances can be deceiving. It's in the level of the deceit that appearance becomes very important."

"Is Adam sick?"

"What do you think?"

"Fine. He's sick. So we'll skip the movie."

"Do you know where you are?"

"I'm in a bathroom… Why?"

"Do you know how to get home from here, Joan?"

"Not really. Adam drove. I've never even been to this neighborhood before. Wait, can Adam not drive home?"

"You have a lot of options, Joan. Figure out what you're going to do."

Joan heard a toilet flush, followed by the sound of God exiting the stall.

"Wait, God flushes? What exactly does God have to flush?"

"You've got to keep up appearances, Joan."


	2. Lost

When Joan got back to the table, Adam was slumped with his head in his hands. She gently grabbed his shoulder.

"Adam, you're sick."

He looked up at her with glazed eyes. "Unchallenged. I need to get out of here, Jane."

"I'll find the waitress and get the check."

"But you didn't get your dessert."

"I don't care about the dessert. Go outside, get some fresh air, and I'll meet you by the car."

Adam nodded and stood up, holding onto the table as if the room were spinning. He gave Joan an apologetic glance with moist eyes, and she shooed him away.

The waitress returned first with the coffee, and Joan asked for the check and explained that they had to leave unexpectedly, prompting the waitress to say she'd take the dessert off the bill. Joan glanced at the creamy froth of her cappuccino but no longer had any interest in it. She took just a couple sips before the waitress returned with their bill. Joan paid it and got out of there as quickly as she could, which was not very quick by the time she got done calculating fifteen percent of thirty-seven dollars and then deciding that their next date would be at McDonald's. But with that minor delay, she got outside to find Adam sitting in the driver's seat of the car. She opened the passenger door.

"Adam, I should drive. You can tell me where to go."

"You know how to drive a stick shift?"

"Um, no."

"So that's out."

"We could get a taxi."

"Chah, we're miles from home, Jane. A cab would cost more than dinner."

"I'll call my dad to come pick us up."

"I can get us home. I've just got a fever. I'm not drunk."

Joan stared at him, aghast, and part of her almost wanted to slap him for saying that, for bringing up Kevin's accident. But she realized it was possible that he didn't mean that at all; it was like Adam to be clueless. Either way, she was forced to acknowledge exactly why she was so scared.

Adam read the look on her face and suddenly clued in. His mouth dropped open. "Oh, Jane, I didn't mean…"

"It's O.K."

"I'm sorry."

"No, it's O.K. You're right. I'm freaking out over nothing."

Perhaps it was to show him how much she trusted him that she got into the car next to him and closed the door. Adam pulled his hat back on, shifted into first, and they were off.

It was the decision they made next that would keep Joan awake, agonizing, through the wee hours of the night. Should they have taken the highway? Would that have been more dangerous? It was Joan who had insisted that they…

"Stick to the side streets."

"I don't know the way back by side streets, Jane."

"You shouldn't be driving on the highway if you're sick. This will be safer."

"I don't think getting lost in some whack neighborhood is safe, yo."

"Please, Adam," she begged, clutching his arm.

He looked at her with eyes she knew could not say no to her. "Fine."

So it was by side streets that they went, through the hip little neighborhood with its art galleries and candle stores and cozy restaurants. As dusk fell, the funky shops gave way to tattoo parlors and adult bookstores, and then to run-down and empty storefronts with broken windows and metal gates pulled down over the doors. There were fewer cars on the road now, and fewer streetlights, which were spaced farther apart. The roads were cracked and pot-holed, and with each bump they hit that bounced them off their seats, Joan looked to Adam to see how he was doing. His hands clenched the steering wheel, knuckles white, his jaw clenched with concentration as he focused on the road ahead. Once he turned to meet her gaze, and it was the faint squint of his soft brown eyes that conveyed so much sadness, and Joan recognized in that look how sorry he was for ruining their date, and a feeling shot through her stomach like she thought she would melt, so much did she want to wrap her arms around him in that moment and tell him that she didn't care about the dessert or the restaurant or the date, she only wanted _him_, and if he was sick she just wanted to make him better.

But as dusk gave way to night, her worry for Adam grew more into worry for the both of them, as Joan realized that they were driving through a neighborhood she did not wish to be in at night. Or during the day, for that matter.

"Where are we?" she asked.

"I think that's Brighton just up ahead, that big intersection."

"You _think_?"

"Or it might be Broadway. Either one should run all the way to --"

Adam stopped with a gasp, and Joan turned to see his face contort in pain. Then it looked like a spasm gripped his stomach, because he doubled over, his head almost hitting the steering wheel.

"Adam, watch out!" Joan screamed as they swerved, just missing a parked car. She reached out, one hand steadying the steering wheel while the other grabbed Adam by the shoulder. "What's the matter?"

"I don't know," he gasped, regaining a tenuous control of the car. "It hurts like hell."

"Let's pull over."

"I don't want to stop here. Not here."

"Adam, you can't drive like this."

"I can make it."

"Pull over!"

But it seemed that Adam didn't have time to pull over. He slammed on the brakes, and if they hadn't already slowed way down, Joan was sure she'd have whiplash. Suppressing a scream, she looked around for what they were about to hit, but she saw nothing in front of them. Before she could even ask why he had stopped, Adam had thrown open his door and jumped out. He disappeared from her view as he crouched next to the car, and Joan thought she could hear him vomiting.

She covered her mouth and closed her eyes, trying to think of what to do. She didn't know if she should give him his privacy or get out and see if he was OK. It wasn't until she opened her eyes again that she saw the red and blue flashing lights in the rearview mirror.

Joan turned around to see a police car pulled up behind them. The officer was already getting out of the car.

She sighed with relief. At least they were safe now, and she was pretty sure that they couldn't arrest you for driving while nauseated. Perhaps it was because her father was a cop, but the presence of police was always a comfort to her. She could see Adam trying to stand up, clutching the car with one hand and holding on to it for support.

As he approached, the police officer had his flashlight on, shining it on Adam and barking an order at him.

Joan opened her door and got out.

"Stay in the car, Ma'am," the cop ordered her. He was young, beefy and blonde with a buzz cut, and nearly twice Adam's size. Joan thought he looked more like a college frat boy than a police officer. He turned his attention from Joan back to Adam. "Now put your hands on the car."

Adam did as he was told. He was panting, trying to catch his breath.

The cop roughly grabbed Adam's head and shined the light right in his face. His aggressive manner was even more striking in contrast to the almost conversational tone of his voice as he asked, "What've you been using this evening, sir?"

Joan gasped, first at the physical assault and then at the question.

When Adam failed to respond, the officer grabbed him by the shoulder and flipped him over, pushing him onto his back against the trunk of the car. Then the cop leaned into him, pressing a thick forearm into Adam's chest just below his neck, nearly strangling him.

"Let's try this again. What did you take, kid?"

Joan felt like her heart had stopped. She couldn't believe what she was seeing. Did cops really act like this? "Wait!" she cried. "What are you doing? He didn't take anything!"

The cop flashed his light up at Joan, and the brightness was so blinding she had to shield her eyes. "Ma'am, I told you to get back in the car."

"But –"

"I saw you guys swerving down the road, and then this one jumps out and pukes? I'd say somebody's been partying."

"He's sick!" Joan could feel her whole body shaking. She thought she was going to be sick herself. It ran through her head that she wanted her daddy, and it was that thought that finally made her remember that she was prepared for this situation. Her father had told her what to do. And suddenly she felt calm.

"I want your badge number," she stated.

"What?"

"I want your name and your badge number. My father is Will Girardi, and if you don't get your hands off of my boyfriend this second, I'm going to report you."

"You're Girardi's kid? That makes this even more interesting. What's the former police chief's daughter doing in a neighborhood like this…" He looked at Adam and continued, "…with a hood like this?"

"We're just trying to get home. We didn't do anything wrong."

"There's only one reason nice white kids like you come into this part of town, and that's to score dope. But in your boyfriend's case, it looks like he's already had his."

"He's not high." Joan knew she was supposed to stay put, but she couldn't resist inching slowly along the side of the car, closer to Adam. "Listen to me, you're making a huge mistake."

But the cop wasn't listening. He had flipped Adam back onto his stomach and was patting him down, first pulling out his wallet. As the cop examined Adam's driver's license and then continued pulling things out of his pockets, Adam did not resist at all, or couldn't resist. He looked like he could barely stand. He lay against the trunk of the car, still breathing heavily. Joan wanted to run to him and grab him, but she could only keep moving slowly along the side of the car, hoping not to draw attention.

The cop now had a small pile of things that he'd extricated from Adam's pockets: copper wire, small pieces of metal and plastic, bits of paper, rocks.

"What is all this crap?" The cop kept digging until he found a small packet. "What's this? Rolling papers? I wonder what these are for."

Adam finally rasped out a response. "Those are for my art, man."

"Right, dude," the cop drawled, mocking him. "And these little baggies. These for your art, too?"

Adam didn't respond. He coughed, then made a couple hacking noises and covered his mouth.

The cop grabbed the back of Adam's hat, and his hair, and yanked his head up. "Are you gonna hurl again?"

Adam again said nothing. Joan had eased past the backseat door and was almost directly across from him now, but Adam wouldn't look at her. The officer let go of him, and Adam dropped his head back down and closed his eyes.

Finished with the pockets of Adam's jeans, the officer next dug his rough hands into the pockets of the hoodie. He pulled out some small white objects that Joan recognized immediately as mints from the bowl on the hostess station at the restaurant. Adam must've grabbed a handful on his way out.

"Whoah-ho!" the cop yelled triumphantly. "What're these?"

"Those are mints," Joan replied. "We were just at a restaurant."

The cop looked at Joan and sniffed the mints but still looked skeptical. Adam finally looked up at Joan, with an expression of embarrassment tinged with regret. She knew why he'd taken those mints; he may have been sick, but he'd still hoped they'd be making out in the car after dinner. Joan gave him a small smile, but it didn't last long.

The cop seemed angry that he hadn't found any drugs. "Look, are you gonna tell me where the stash is, or do I have to search the car?"

Adam shook his head. "All you'll find in the car is more of the same."

"So you don't mind if I see for myself? Step away from the vehicle, please." Again his faux-polite tone contrasted with the fierce physicality of his movements. He pulled Adam to his feet and shoved him aside. Adam stumbled in a losing battle to regain his balance.

Joan no longer cared about the cop's orders to stay put. She ran around the car and grabbed Adam in her arms just as he was about to fall over.

"Adam!" she gasped. As he leaned against her, the weight of his body was so much more than she was expecting, she almost fell over. But she took a step back, balanced, and silently promised herself that she wouldn't let go of him no matter what happened next. His breathing was still labored, as it had been before but no doubt was worsened by being pinned against the car. "Adam, are you OK?"

Adam wrapped his arms around her and pressed his cheek against hers. His mouth was right against her ear as he whispered, "Call your dad."

"What?"

"Your cell phone. Call your dad."

She hadn't even thought of it, but she hesitated only a split second to see that the police officer was preoccupied checking the glove compartment of the car. Still supporting Adam, she discreetly pulled her phone from her pocket and, cursing her own stupidity, dialed home.

It was her younger brother who answered. "Hello?"

"Luke, put Dad on the phone," she whispered. "Now."

"Joan? What's the matter?"

"What part of 'now' did you not understand? It's an emergency. Luke, please!"

It must have been that his sister said 'please' to him that drove home the urgency of the situation. "Hold on," he said.

She could hear Luke calling, "Dad! Dad!" and then the thud of his feet pounding down the stairs. It didn't take very long for him to get to their father, but it was long enough for the police officer to look up at them and see her on the phone.

"Hey!" the officer called. "Did I say you could make a phone call?"

This question was overlapped by her father's voice from the phone. "Joan, are you all right?"

"Daddy, I need help," she cried into the phone.

"Where are you?" he asked, with what she knew was forced calm.

"I – I don't know." She looked up at the cop storming toward her, and her heart pounded in her chest.

The growing fear in her father's voice compounded her own. "Joan, what happened?"

"We got pulled over –"

But that was all she could get out before the cop ripped the phone right out of her hand.

"Hey, that's mine!" she yelped.

The cop glared and stabbed a thick finger at her. "You – put your hands on the car."

Joan didn't move. She was terrified, having witnessed what 'put your hands on the car' meant for Adam. But even stronger than her fear for her own safety was her fear for Adam's. She wouldn't let go of him. She'd promised herself she wouldn't.

In desperation, she looked around for some means of escape. She noticed now that a small crowd had gathered on the sidewalk to watch the commotion. That comforted her, because she felt there was no way this cop would hurt her in front of witnesses. She realized what a strange sight she and Adam must seem to onlookers: two teenagers huddled together in the glare of squad car headlights, the girl supporting the boy.

"Put your hands on the car," the officer barked again. "Now."

When she didn't move, the cop grabbed her arm. Again fear shot through her, and again fear was overwhelmed by something else – this time, surprise.

Suddenly amassing strength, Adam had maneuvered himself in front of her, pushing her back behind him and placing himself squarely between Joan and the officer. "Don't touch her," Adam commanded, his strained voice barely above a whisper.

The officer was as surprised by this as Joan, and for a moment he just stared back and forth between the two of them. And that was when something even more startling happened; with a sudden groan, Adam pitched forward, doubling over just as he had in the car.

Interpreting this as an assault, the cop grabbed him and threw him to the ground.

"No!" Joan screamed.

Adam hit the pavement head-first, his arms barely able to catch his fall. He lay face-down in the street and didn't move as Joan dropped to her knees next to him.

"Adam!" she cried, digging her hands underneath his shoulder and pushing him up onto his side. He drew his knees up and curled into a ball, but he didn't open his eyes. His mouth was wide open as if struggling to get a breath, and he looked conscious but very much in pain. "Adam!" she shouted more urgently. She looked up at the cop. "What did you do?" she demanded. She looked at the gawking bystanders. "Somebody get some help! Please!"

"I'm calling this in," the cop stated abruptly. "He's an O.D." He went to his car and grabbed the radio.

"He's not O.D.'ing!" Joan yelled. "He's not on –" She stopped herself as she felt Adam clutch her arm. She looked down to see his eyes half-open.

He whispered, "Jane, if it'll get us to the hospital, let him think whatever he wants."

She nodded and looked up at the cop sitting in the front seat of the squad car and speaking into his radio. He finished and got out of the car.

"Did you call an ambulance?" she asked.

"No," replied the officer. "I'm taking him in."

"He needs an ambulance."

"That'll take a lot longer."

The cop walked over to them and bent down. Joan threw herself over Adam to shield him. "No!" she screamed.

"Listen, lady, I won't hurt him. Get up and help me, and this will all go a lot faster."

Joan looked down at Adam. He nodded his consent. She stood up, and she and the cop each grabbed an arm and pulled him to his feet. Then the cop bent and pulled Adam over his shoulder, carrying him to the car. He opened the back door of the squad car and dumped Adam onto the seat. Joan tried to climb in after him.

"You stay here," the cop ordered her back.

"You can't leave me here. I have no way home."

"You've got the car."

"It's his. I can't drive it."

The cop ignored her and went to get in the car.

Fear and desperation brought out Joan's resourcefulness. She snapped at the cop, "You know you can't leave me here. Do I have to remind you who my father is?"

This seemed to get through. The officer nodded and grabbed his radio again, this time calling for a tow truck. Joan climbed into the back seat, where she found Adam struggling to pull himself upright.

"OK," she whispered, feeling relief for the first time. "We're going to the hospital." In the darkness she could just make out Adam's eyes as he looked at her.

"I'm sorry, Jane," he said.

"Sorry? What are you sorry for?"

"I'm sorry this is happening. You were right. I was too sick to --"

"Adam," she interrupted. "You have nothing to be sorry for. I just want you to be OK."

He nodded. "I'll try." He leaned over and laid his head in her lap.

The car pulled out into traffic, and the lights and siren came on. Joan didn't attempt to speak again over the loud wail, so she just sat, looking down at Adam as his eyes closed again. She took his hand in hers and rested their entwined fingers upon his chest, close to his heart, so she could feel his heartbeat. Despite its swift pace, she found the sensation comforting, their one connection now as she could no longer see his eyes or hear his voice. With her free hand, she ran her fingers through his thick dark hair.

The car raced along, hitting potholes and tearing around corners. Joan didn't look out the window at the city flashing by; she looked only down at Adam.

Flying down the street under the blare of sirens, she was aware of how surreal everything felt. The moments passed by as if by sheer momentum, each pushing the next, falling like dominoes. It didn't feel like reality. None of this could be real. It passed through Joan's mind that it could be a dream, and the only counterpoint to that idea that she could reason was that dreams didn't have this many details. There were so many thoughts circling in her brain, and the biggest one, the one that was so weighty that she couldn't believe she hadn't run into it yet, was that she had no idea what was wrong with Adam.

She stroked his forehead, felt the heat that seeped from his skin. Her fingers drew trails of sweat across his brow. _Adam, Adam… what's wrong with you? Is it the flu? Food poisoning? You were sick when you got to the house, weren't you? Why didn't you just tell me?_

She was still puzzling it out when the siren tripped off with a loud chirp. They had pulled into a circular drive that took them right up to wide glass double-doors with fluorescent light shining through. Here they were -- the hospital, emergency room, doctors, safety. Adam would be all right.

He opened his eyes and looked up at her, no weak smile now, no sense of relief in his eyes, only pain and confusion. Whatever it was that was wrong with him, it was getting progressively worse. No words were exchanged between them, just that silent look in the dark back seat of a cop car, pale haze of fluorescence just allowing Joan to make out Adam's eyes. She squeezed his hand in the one gesture of optimism she could muster; he squeezed back but the weakness of his grip frightened her. The cop was out of the car now, reaching for the handle of the backseat door, and as Joan looked down at Adam, she did something that surprised both of them; she bent and kissed him, first intending to kiss his forehead but somehow finding her way down to his lips, or perhaps his lips sought out hers. His grip may have been weak, but his kiss was hungry. It was as if he wanted to drink some of her strength and she wanted to feed it to him, because they both knew what this was, a goodbye kiss, the kiss of two people who know that the path that lies before them is dark and dangerous and that they each must walk it alone.

The officer threw open the door to the back seat as Joan pulled her lips away from Adam's, the wetness on them could be sweat or saliva, she didn't know, but she licked her lips, wanting to drink in whatever it was. She didn't care if he was sick, if he was contagious, she didn't care about germs or disease or anything that could hurt her, she knew only that she loved her boyfriend, and in that moment, Adam Rove was the only thing in the world that mattered.

So lost was she in love, she was almost oblivious to the hands that reached into the back seat and grabbed Adam by the arms and ripped him away from her.


	3. Help

Reality crept back into her consciousness as Adam was lifted out of the car, and Joan found herself chasing him, through the sliding glass doors and into the blue entryway that took them into the emergency room. Bright lights assaulted her eyes, and she struggled to adjust from such a long time spent outside in the night.

A nurse brought a stretcher to meet them, and the policeman lifted Adam onto it. A doctor walked up now -- at least, Joan thought it must be the doctor because he was wearing a white coat and a stethoscope, but he looked so young, even younger than the cop, Joan couldn't imagine he'd been at it for very long. He was tall and thin, pale, with red-blonde hair, and he kind of reminded her of Luke.

"What've you got?" the young doctor asked as he met up with them. They were passing into the main room of the ER now, where beds separated by curtains lined the walls.

The cop replied, "Caucasian male, 16, OD. Got him in a traffic stop."

The doctor lifted one of Adam's eyelids as he asked, "You know what he took?"

"Nothing!" Joan cried, even more plaintively now, feeling the doctor had to believe her. "He's not on drugs! He's just sick."

The doctor looked at her, and he seemed to consider what she was saying.

But before he could respond, the cop jumped in with, "I found them on Archer Parkway. One guess what they'd be doing there."

"Did you find any drugs on him?"

"No, but he was driving erratically, then got out of the car and was throwing up."

"Alcohol?" the doctor asked.

"No sign of it on him or the car. I'm thinking pot plus X or Meth. Before I could finish searching the vehicle, he collapsed."

"You threw him down!" Joan cried.

The doctor looked from Joan to the officer and back again. "What's his name?" he asked her.

"Adam," Joan replied. "Adam Rove."

"Adam," the doctor called to his patient, who finally opened his eyes. "I just want to help you, Adam, but I need you to tell me what you took so I can figure out how to make you better. OK?"

Adam looked up at the doctor and was clearly confused. Like Joan, he must have assumed that once they got to the hospital, everything would be fine. He took a moment to respond, but finally was able to say, "I didn't take anything."

The doctor took another long look at him, then took a penlight and shined it in Adam's eyes. He turned to a nurse and said, "Let's get a tox screen, full blood and urine panel." The nurse nodded and moved away. "Adam, have you been drinking?"

"No."

"Have you inhaled anything?"

"No." Adam winced again in pain, the spasm lifting his hips up off the stretcher. He tried to curl onto his side, but the cop pushed him back flat.

The doctor laid a hand on the officer's arm and urged him, "Take it easy."

Joan grabbed onto the metal bar at the foot of the gurney, her frustration mounting. She fought to keep her voice calm. "You have to listen to me. He's not high. He's sick, and he's only going to get worse unless you figure out what's wrong with him."

"We'll run some tests, and then we'll know what's wrong with him."

"I'll figure out what's wrong with him," the cop snarled. He grabbed Adam by the front of his hoodie and yelled right into his face, "What did you take?!"

"Stop it!" Joan screamed. "Leave him alone!"

Her cries were overlapped by the doctor's pleas of "OK, OK. Just let go of him and let me do my job." He was obviously startled himself, and as he tried to pull the cop off of Adam, he turned to a nurse and asked, "Can I get some help over here?"

The cop released his grasp of Adam's shirt but did not entirely back off, leaving his hand lying on Adam's shoulder like a warning. "Fine, go ahead and wait for your tests." He cocked his head at Joan and added, "But get her out of here."

The doctor turned sympathetic eyes to Joan and said, "I need you to go back out to the waiting room."

"No, I'm not leaving him."

"I'm sorry, but I think it will help everyone calm down if you go wait outside."

Joan tightened her grip on the end of the stretcher. Adam was clearly still in danger, and she wasn't going anywhere. "No," she said firmly. "Not until I know he's OK."

The doctor looked past Joan and nodded, and she turned just as someone grabbed her arm. She looked up at a burly orderly who seized her firmly and said, "This way, ma'am. Come on."

"No!" she screamed, having now lost all composure and not caring if she sounded like a crazy person. But that only made the orderly grab her tighter, seizing both her shoulders. He began to drag her away as she cried out, "Let go of me!"

She would have gone quietly had she realized that Adam would witness what was happening to her. But it all happened so quickly, she didn't think.

"Jane!" he cried, trying to sit up. The cop still had one hand on him, holding him down, and Adam threw it off and sat up, reaching a hand out toward her. "Jane!"

With a shout of "Lie down!" the cop brought his arm back down against Adam's chest with so much force it knocked Adam back flat onto the gurney.

Everything around Joan spun into a shocked silence. Even the doctor seemed speechless as he gawked at the officer, and then the two of them started arguing, but it was all wordless to Joan. She saw everything fading away from her, receding, and only then did she realize that the orderly was pulling her away and she wasn't struggling. She tried to see Adam's face, to see if he was even still conscious after that blow, but he was too far away now, and the gurney was moving, too, a nurse pushing Adam over to a curtained area as the doctor interceded with the cop and prevented him from following. There were two nurses now, one of them unzipping Adam's hoodie and pulling it off, the other unwrapping a package and laying its contents on a tray. The last thing Joan saw was a nurse holding up a syringe, as the other pulled the curtain around and cut off Joan's view.

Having lost sight of Adam, Joan found her footing again and pulled away from the orderly. He let her go and then held his hands up in a gesture of peace. She turned to glare at him, wondering how she could get away from him. He wasn't too big, not as big as the cop, but he looked tough. He was Latino, with a nametag on his blue scrubs that read "Jesus."

"Stay here, Joan," he said softly.

She wondered how he knew her name, and then she realized he couldn't know her name, because Adam had called her 'Jane.' And that could only mean one thing.

"Is that you?" she demanded, both relieved and horrified. She looked at his nametag and scoffed. "Of course that's you, trying to be cute even at a time like this."

"Calm down. It's OK"

"No, it's not OK! It's very much not OK! Why aren't you helping Adam? They're hurting him! Please, do something!"

"Help is on the way, Joan." Orderly God pointed toward the sliding glass doors that led back outside. Joan turned to look, but the hallway between her and the doors was empty. She turned back to see Orderly God heading back into the ER.

Joan wanted to follow, but she didn't think she could get to Adam now. She grabbed her head and tried to think what she should do next, but she couldn't get control of her emotions enough to be logical. There was no logic here. None of this made any sense at all. _None of this should have happened._ She was angry and afraid, and she didn't know which feeling was making her shake so much, but maybe it was both. She was so tense her arms hurt. She looked down at her hands and tried to steady them by opening and closing them, but they kept shaking.

"Get it together, Joan," she whispered to herself. She looked at the people sitting in the chairs near her, an old man and a woman holding a small child. They were all three staring at her. She realized she must look like a lunatic, standing there helplessly, opening and closing her hands.

Joan decided she'd had enough of waiting. She had just made up her mind to go back into the emergency room, regardless of the consequences, when out of the corner of her eye she saw the double doors slide open. She looked to see two people come rushing in from the night outside.

Her parents.

Relief flooded over her like a warm bath at the end of a cold day. Just the sight of her mother and father was enough to abate so much of the fear that had wrapped its cold grip around her heart. So overwhelmed with emotion she couldn't even speak, she found herself walking toward them, and then running, arms out to them like a child. Her father saw her first and ran to her, grabbing her in his arms.

"Joan!" he cried, kissing her head. "Oh, thank God, you're all right." He was saying it more to himself than to her, but still the words comforted her. She reached next for her mother and got another tight squeeze.

"How did you find me?" Joan asked, her eyes brimming with tears.

Her father brushed the hair back from her face as he explained, "You said you got pulled over, so I got on my radio. As soon I heard an officer call in that he had two kids from a traffic stop and was taking them to the hospital, we jumped in the car. What happened?"

"And where's Adam?" asked Helen.

"He's with the… the…" Joan couldn't even get the words out. The relief at seeing her parents had momentarily blocked the terror she was feeling about what was happening to her boyfriend. As she began to recall it, the emotion was too much for her, and suddenly the tears in her eyes brimmed over and flooded her cheeks, as a sob shook through her.

Helen and Will exchanged a look and then watched as Joan pointed to the curtain that concealed Adam. Her parents saw the police officer and the doctor arguing, and then the doctor passed behind the curtain, and the officer followed.

"Stop him!" Joan shrieked, grabbing her father's hand. "Daddy, you have to stop that cop! Get him away from Adam!"

Will gripped Joan by the shoulders with firm, calm hands. "Look at me, Joan. You've got to calm down. Deep breath."

Joan tried to do as her father ordered. She inhaled, but choked on a sob and quickly exhaled and coughed.

"It's OK, pumpkin," said Will softly. "Try again."

She knew she had to calm down to explain what was going on, but she still felt like this was wasting time, time that Adam was still at the mercy of that horrible mean cop. It was only by looking into the concerned but rational eyes of her father that she was finally able to focus, get that deep breath, and exhale.

"Good," Will said with a reserved smile. "Now tell me what happened."

"Adam was sick, we were driving home and he got sick. He pulled over, I mean he didn't pull over he just stopped, and I think he was throwing up, he got out of the car and... And this cop came up and grabbed him and was shining a flashlight in his face and kept asking, 'What did you take?' But Adam couldn't even answer because the guy threw him on the car and was practically strangling him and I told him that he didn't take anything and he wasn't high he was just sick, and the cop didn't believe me, and then he went to search the car for drugs and Adam collapsed and I made the cop bring us to the hospital. And I don't know whether he collapsed because he was sick or because the cop kept hurting him. And then we got here and I thought it would be OK but –"

She'd gotten as far as she could get without emotion overwhelming her again. She thought of Adam calling her name and what happened then, and another sob escaped her lips.

Her mother reached around from behind her and wrapped arms of love and support around her. Joan leaned back against her mother's chest.

Will kept his steady eyes locked to hers. "What happened then, Joan?"

"He s-sat up and… and…" – her voice caught, but she fought through it – "and he reached out to me and c-called my name because, because they were taking him away and wouldn't let me go and… and… the cop h-hit him."

"The officer struck Adam?" As Will asked this question, he looked from his daughter to his wife. Joan turned around and saw a look of horror on her mother's face.

Joan nodded at her father, tears streaming down her cheeks. She started talking faster, trying to get the last part out quickly before she completely broke down again. "He knocked Adam down, knocked him b-back on the stretcher, and they wheeled him away, and I couldn't run after him, I-- " But that sentence would be left unfinished, because Joan finally broke, and her legs gave way beneath her, and it was only her mother's protective arms wrapped around her that kept her from collapsing to the floor.

Will helped to pull her to her feet, and he and Helen together walked her over to a chair to sit. A ball of sobs now, she ended up in her mother's lap, gasping, unable to process what she had seen in any kind of way that would not completely alter the world as she knew it, a world in which these things didn't happen, a world in which a police officer, a person she'd been raised to trust, a person who was supposed to help people, would never hurt someone as sweet and gentle as her Adam.

Will knelt before her and gently laid a hand upon her face. "Joan," he said softly, followed by, "Joan," a bit more stern.

She opened her eyes and saw the look on her father's face, stoic now, a look that showed that the father was becoming the detective again and that he knew she wouldn't like it. It was the look he'd given her when he had told her it was time to take the training wheels off her little pink bicycle.

"Joan, I have to ask this question…"

The seriousness of his tone drew her full attention. She wiped the tears away and focused.

"I have to ask, and you have to answer me honestly. Do you know for a fact that Adam didn't take any drugs?"

It was strange, Joan thought, to be looking at this man who three seconds ago was her father and now was some stranger. But perhaps it was that feeling, that sudden feeling of detachment, that thrust her fully into this new reality of the cold, hard world. The feeling calmed her, and when she responded, it was with less grief and more anger.

Through pursed lips she hissed, "How can you even ask that?"

"Because I have to understand why the officer would think Adam was high."

"Adam was sick, and other than that I don't know why that cop thought anything, except that we were in a bad neighborhood."

"Could he have taken medication?"

"No. I don't think so. I don't think he knew he was sick. And I was with him the whole time."

"The whole time? He never left your sight? He never went to the bathroom?"

"Well… he went to the bathroom. So?"

"And what about when he came to pick you up? Did he seem a little strange, a little out of it?"

Joan opened her mouth to reply, but she failed to utter an automatic 'No.'

Her mother responded instead. "Will, that's just him. That's Adam Rove. He's out of it. That's his thing."

Will nodded to Helen and then turned back to his daughter. "Joan, think. Is it possible that Adam took something, anything, at some point during the evening?"

Joan's mind was whirling now in a whole new direction. She was completely confused. Would her father ask these questions if they weren't important? No, he wouldn't. And if they were important, then she had to consider her answers carefully. She had to consider the possibility that she could be wrong. She tried to remember every moment of her evening with Adam. It was so recent, and yet any clarity with which she might have been able to recall their date had been eradicated by the events that followed. But one thing she did remember: Adam had seemed strange from the beginning of the evening. She remembered being worried about him. But everything that she'd been worried about pointed to him being sick. And beyond that, she knew him. He didn't do drugs. If he did drugs, she would know about it… _Right?_

"He didn't take anything," she replied. But some iota of complete conviction was missing from her voice, so infinitesimal an amount that only a veteran detective would catch it. And Will Girardi was just such a detective.

"Are you sure?" he demanded, with eyes that peered into her as if they could read her mind.

She hesitated. And then the words that came next were not her own.

"I'm sure," replied a firm voice with a lilting Southern accent. Joan looked up at her mother, but Helen was peering at her husband with eyes as focused as his and repeated for emphasis, "I'm sure, Will. And my mind is not clouded by confusion or tears or romantic feelings. I know Adam Rove, and I know several people who think he's on drugs, and that's because those people are incapable of seeing who he really is. He's a good boy, and he loves our daughter, and you go get that cop away from him this second or I will do it myself."

Will gazed steadily at his wife, and from the look between them, it was clear that the subject was closed. He patted his daughter's cheek and stood up.

"I'll take care of it," was all he said.

As he turned to go, Joan got up to follow, but her mother held on to her. "Joan, I think we should wait here."

"I won't get too close, I promise. I just want to be able to hear his voice. I have to know that Adam's OK. Please, Mommy."

Helen nodded and kept an arm around her as they followed Will into the emergency room. He stopped at the open side of the curtain, where a heavy-set nurse exited holding a tray lined with tubes.

"Can I help you?" the nurse asked, and then, with a look back at Adam, "Are you his father?"

Will flipped his badge. "I'm Detective Will Girardi."

This brought the doctor out from behind the curtain, looking anxious. "There's already an officer here, and I've been trying to explain to him that I don't think this is a police matter."

"I know the patient," Will explained.

And then Joan heard Adam's strained voice call out, "Chief Girardi!" She would have loved to see the look on the cop's face when he heard that, but he was hidden from view.

"Adam, hang in there," Will called to him. "It's going to be fine." Will extended his hand to what Joan imagined must've been the cop. "Detective Girardi," he introduced himself. "I don't think we've met."

Will was still outside the curtain, and the cop had to step up in order to shake his hand and reply, "Officer Grady." Joan realized that her father was intentionally drawing the cop away from Adam.

"Officer Grady, may I have a word with you?" He took a few strides back, and the officer emerged fully from behind the curtain to follow him, until –

"Wait!" came Adam's plaintive cry. "Chief Girardi, don't leave!"

"It's OK, Adam. Relax. I'm not going anywhere." Will turned to where Joan waited with her mother. "Helen, some help here?"

Helen nodded and moved forward, first ordering her daughter, "Stay here."

"But, Mom--"

"Stay here, Joan."

Helen stopped at the opening of the curtain and smiled at Adam, then reached up and pulled the curtain back just enough so that her daughter could see. Joan moved forward just a bit, and now, only ten feet away, she could see him clearly. Adam was lying down but propped up slightly by the raised back of the gurney. His hat, shoes, and hoodie removed, he was just in his gray T-shirt and jeans now, a cuff strapped to one arm as a nurse took his blood pressure.

"Mrs. G," he called as Helen stepped up to his bedside. The relief in his voice was palpable; Joan thought it could rival what she herself felt at seeing her parents. She realized just how scared he must be. The glare of a large light over his bed reflected in his eyes, and Joan thought she could see the glimmer of tears.

Helen took Adam's hand in hers and laid her other hand on his forehead, brushing back the hair that matted to his damp face. "Just relax, Adam. You're going to be fine. We're all here for you." Her voice was soothing, the same voice she used to comfort her own children when they were sick or frightened. Joan had never heard her use that voice with anyone else. Helen looked up at the nurse and commented, "He's burning up."

"His temperature is a hundred and three."

"Can't you give him something?"

The doctor looked up from the chart he was writing on. "If it's bacterial, we can start him on antibiotics, but we won't know until we get the lab reports back."

"So you don't know what's wrong with him?"

The doctor eyed her carefully. "Are you a parent or guardian?"

"I'm Helen Girardi. I'm his teacher, and his girlfriend's mother."

The doctor nodded. This seemed to be good enough for him. "I'm Doctor Chenoweth. I'm glad you're here, Mrs. Girardi, you and your husband. I didn't know what we were going to do about that police officer. I've never…"

"You've never had to deal with a gung-ho young cop before?"

"Not exactly."

"You're an intern?"

"Yeah. My first ER rotation, and dealing with the gung-ho cops is the part they don't teach you in med school."

Joan's attention turned back to the cop when she heard his voice rising in his discussion with her father.

"I'm not going anywhere!" he shouted at Will. "You can't tell me that kid's not on something. I know what I saw!"

Will remained very calm. "And you brought him to the hospital, which is exactly as you should have done. And the doctors will find out what's wrong with him."

"He's OD'ing! That's what's wrong with him. He was on Archer Parkway to score drugs."

"You don't know that."

Officer Grady now sounded angrier at Will than at Adam. "Look at him! Look at how he's dressed! Look at his hat!"

Will turned to took at Adam, who was no longer even wearing a hat. "You assume he was there to buy drugs based on how he was dressed?"

"And I could see it in his eyes. He's stoned."

Will nodded to Helen, who moved aside, still holding Adam's hand. Will stepped up to the gurney and laid a hand on Adam's forehead, using a finger and thumb to gently draw up his eyelids.

"Adam, look at me."

Will took a good long look in Adam's eyes and announced, "His pupils look normal." He held up his hand over Adam's face. "Now, follow my finger." Will waved his index finger back and forth in front of Adam's eyes, slowly and then quickly. Satisfied, he asked one last question. "How are you feeling?"

It took a moment for Adam to respond, which he did slowly, nervously aware of the audience. "I just feel… pain. My stomach. It's like somebody stabbed me in the gut."

Will looked to the intern. "What do you think it is?"

Doctor Chenoweth stepped up to Adam's bedside opposite Will. He pulled up his patient's shirt and pulled down the waistband of the plaid boxers that peeked above Adam's jeans, to expose the lower portion of his stomach. Adam looked around him with widened eyes, as if realizing how surreal it was to be displayed in this way for his girlfriend's parents and a cop who seemed intent on hurting him. The doctor laid his right hand on top of his left and pressed Adam's stomach in several places, with no response, until he reached one spot…

"AAHG!" Adam groaned, wincing and grabbing at the metal railing along one side of the gurney as his other hand squeezed Helen's.

Joan winced, too, and she felt the sting of tears in her eyes again.

The doctor looked at Will and nodded to indicate that this was exactly the reaction he expected from his patient. "All of his symptoms suggest acute appendicitis. I'll know for sure when we get a few tests back from the lab. I've seen nothing that would point to an OD."

Will nodded. "I concur with that assessment."

"But…" Officer Grady protested, growing increasingly defensive. "He may not be OD'ing, but he is definitely high."

Will sighed, his calm demeanor evaporating in a wave of disgust. "Officer Grady, I've been a cop for twenty-five years. Anything you can smoke, snort, sniff, inject or ingest, I've seen somebody on it. This kid isn't high."

"Maybe not now, but he was an hour ago."

Will exchanged a look with the doctor, who nodded, knowing what he was silently asking. Doctor Chenoweth explained, "Anything that was active in his system an hour ago will show up on the tox screen."

"Fine," Officer Grady grunted. "If you want to wait around, suit yourself. I've got a patrol to get back to."

"No, you don't," countered Will.

"Excuse me?"

"You're not going anywhere."

"You're not the Chief anymore, Detective Girardi. You're not my direct superior, so you can't order me to stay."

"Yes, I can, Officer. I'm a detective, and as of now you're under investigation for charges of illegal search, wrongful arrest, and excessive use of force."

"What?! Charges made by who?"

"Charges made by my daughter. Now the best thing you can do, if you want to return to your patrol, is to sit down, wait, and pray that some controlled substance turns up on those lab reports. Because then you might have some hope of justifying how you behaved this evening."

"This is bullshit. I barely touched the kid."

"Officer Grady, cool your heels, have a cup of coffee, and don't say another word until I come for you. If you wish to continue this conversation, I would advise you to have an attorney present. In the meantime, I will call your C.O. and let him know where you are."

Officer Grady turned his glare from Will to Joan. She stared back at him, her teeth clenched, until he turned and stormed off toward the waiting room. Joan sighed with relief.

Shaking his head sadly, Will walked back to where Adam lay on the gurney. "I'm sorry about that, Adam. Officer Grady is not representative of Arcadia's Finest."

Adam squeezed his eyes shut, and Joan couldn't tell if this was from relief or if he was struggling to suppress another wave of pain or nausea so that he could speak. When he opened his eyes, he looked up at Will and said simply, with effort, "Thank you."

Will nodded. Helen again brushed back the damp locks of dark hair from Adam's forehead and then ran her fingers down his cheek. She looked up at her husband and gave him a proud smile.

Joan wanted to rush to Adam's bedside, but she lingered where she was when she saw the doctor walk over to a nurse and speak with her quietly. Joan took a few steps back until she was within earshot.

Doctor Chenoweth shook his head and sighed. "That'll take too long." He scrutinized some papers.

"What's wrong?" Joan asked.

Both the nurse and the doctor looked at her as if noticing her reappearance for the first time. "Young lady," said the nurse, "I don't think you're supposed to be in here."

"Just tell me what's wrong. Please."

Sensing her distress, Will stepped over to them and laid a hand on Joan's shoulder. "What's the matter?" he inquired.

The nurse said, "We got a hold of the father. He's going to have to take a taxi to get here because his son took their car. Doctor Chenoweth isn't sure we can wait."

Will shot a concerned look to Helen. She patted Adam's hand, gave him a smile, and then walked over to join them.

The doctor explained, "I just got the initial lab reports back. As I suspected, it's appendicitis, but it's progressed further than I thought. We need to operate immediately, and we need parental consent because Adam is under 18."

Will nodded. "I can go pick up Mr. Rove."

"That would help, but, in all honesty..." The doctor cocked his head toward the waiting room and gave Will an embarrassed smile. "I'd feel more comfortable if you stayed here to keep an eye on this situation."

Helen volunteered next. "I can go."

"But you can't use the siren," Will pointed out.

"I can still drive pretty fast," she said with a crooked smile.

Will nodded -- it made more sense for her to go. "Just don't get pulled over."

Helen went to Joan and laid a hand against her face. "Adam is going to be fine. Don't worry."

"Just hurry, Mom."

Joan watched her mother rush back out through the waiting room. She turned back to Adam to see that the gurney was already moving again, and the doctor was at Adam's side, talking to him.

"Adam, my young friend, you have an infected appendix, but we're going to take it out, and you'll be good as new tomorrow." Two nurses took over pushing the gurney, and Doctor Chenoweth continued, "These nice ladies will take you up to surgery now to get you prepped."

Joan ran over to the gurney. "Wait! Can I go with him?"

The doctor shook his head. "It would help if you just stayed here for right now."

Her father came up right behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. "Joan, you can see him later. Stay here with me."

Joan looked at Adam, his eyes open a tiny fraction but not really seeing anything at all. The pain and fever had advanced so far that even though he was still awake, he wasn't really there. A last lonely tear slipped down Joan's cheek as she watched the nurses roll him down a hallway and into an elevator.

He was gone.


	4. Opening Doors

Her father may have wanted her to stay with him, but Joan couldn't just sit in that waiting room and count the tiles on the ceiling. Not with that big, blond frat boy cop sitting there, nursing a coffee in a styrofoam cup as if he were kicking back at the donut shop. Part of her wanted to hear what her father would say to him now that they knew what was wrong with Adam, now that they had proof that everything the cop thought and did was wrong. But part of her was past that; she had a new anger now, a new target for her frustration.

As she marched purposefully down the hall, she'd already forgotten what excuse she'd given her father. Was she supposed to be looking for a vending machine, or a restroom? Neither one was the real reason she'd walked away. She didn't know where she would find it, but she knew what she was looking for. Turning down one more quiet white hallway, she saw a sign for it at the end and hurried down to find a small room with a stained glass window and a half-dozen pews.

The chapel. Now where was He? The all-knowing, ever-present One, operator of a seemingly flawed but supposedly perfect system, like Willy Wonka and his chocolate factory.

"OK, where are you? I want to talk. I looked all over the ER, and you weren't there. So why don't you just poof, and then we can have a nice face-to-face?"

Silence greeted her. Joan looked around, turning her face up to the ceiling. "Are you hiding? That figures." She walked up to a podium at the front of the room, ran a finger over the polished wood, then lifted her hand and slammed her fist down.

The sound echoed through the room. Throbbing pain shot up her arm, but it wasn't enough. She wanted it to hurt. _Why should all the pain be Adam's?_ Joan turned her face heavenward again. "I just have one question…" The anger that had spurred her rant thus far suddenly abated, and now grief welled up in her, and she felt the tears coming again. She was just barely able to speak it, and her lower lip quivered as she asked, "Hasn't Adam suffered enough?"

Again, silence. She walked over to a pew and collapsed onto it, burying her head in her hands. She sat like that for several minutes, anger, sadness, pain, love, all battling it out inside her mind.

And then she felt a tap on her shoulder. Wiping away tears, she looked up to see Orderly God in his blue scrubs, his thick, tattooed arms folded across his chest.

He stated matter-of-factly, "First of all, I do not 'poof.' And secondly, you do not summon me. I am not your genie in a bottle."

Joan stood up and faced him. "Answer my question."

"_And_ I don't answer questions. But that one you knew already."

"You'll answer this one, because all of this was your bidding. You told me to go on a date with Adam and gave me that evil restaurant book so I'd get it in my head that we should drive across town. And for what, so we could get lost, and Adam could get beaten up? You threw us into harm's way, and it better not be so I could learn some stupid lesson about appearances."

Joan paused, waiting for some response, but none came. With a deep breath, she continued, "Do you have some cosmic vendetta against Adam Rove? Was he Joseph Stalin in a past life, and now he's on a karmic downward spiral into dung beetle territory or something? What is it? Why Adam? He's never done anything to deserve this."

"Few who suffer deserve suffering. That's not the way it works. Your brother didn't deserve to end up in a wheelchair."

"No, he didn't. But that was just one horrible accident, and Kevin lived this, like, glorified, prom-king existence up until that point. Adam has _never_ had it easy. He was just a kid when his mom died. And you'd think that would make the school go easy on him, but instead Price is constantly on his ass about everything. And his only friends are this militant anti-establishment, secret-bat-mitzvah-having, 'Don't come to my house' subdefective, and _me_, the crazy girl who took a folding chair to the one good thing that ever happened to him."

"Selling that sculpture is not the only good thing that ever happened to Adam. I might argue that the best thing ever to happen to Adam is standing right in front of me."

"Me? The girlfriend he barely gets to spend time with because his dad got hurt and now he has to work all the time to support his family? Just how much are you going to throw at him? Why don't you just clue me in so I'll at least be prepared the next time tragedy strikes and won't totally fail him like I did tonight?"

"You didn't fail him. And although I don't like to prognosticate, I will tell you that an appendectomy is a very minor surgery, and you have every reason to believe that Adam will be fine."

"He won't be fine. Not after everything that happened tonight. What's he going to feel the next time he sees a pair of flashing lights in his rearview mirror? Maybe next time he won't pull over, maybe he'll just make a break for it. This is how a life of crime starts!"

"Joan, the thing about people who suffer a lot is that they learn to deal with suffering. They get past it. Adam will be fine, and he'll be fine because one good thing will happen to him tonight, and that's what he'll remember."

"What thing?"

"That's up to you."

"Argh! Do you have to go cryptic again? Can't you just tell me that Adam will be fine because you have the power to make it that way?"

"Joan, haven't you noticed that when I tell you to do something, things tend to work out for the best?"

"I can't see how this could possibly be for the best!"

"That's where faith comes in, Joan."

"Sorry, I'm fresh out of faith! Why don't you give me some?"

God looked at her carefully and nodded. "OK."

"OK?"

"OK."

"So… you're giving me faith. Like, right now? Because I don't feel any different. I still feel terrified."

"What are you so scared of, Joan?"

"What am I scared of? How much time have you got?"

"I'm not bound by time, so you go right ahead."

"Right this second I'm scared that my boyfriend is going into surgery, they're going to… to cut him open… to… How can I not be scared when he's getting sicker by the second and this stupid hospital won't operate on him until his father signs some stupid form? How can I not be scared when I have no idea how Adam's doing?"

"You know how he's doing, Joan. You always know, if you let yourself feel it. You're so much more connected than you realize."

"I can't feel it. I don't even feel like we're in the same building. I just feel far away from him."

God gestured to the nearest pew. "Sit down."

Joan looked at him, wondering what he was up to, hoping that this was the piece of faith he had promised her. She sat down.

"Close your eyes," he commanded.

Joan did as she was told. She felt God's rough fingers touch her forehead.

"You can see him, Joan, if you look the right way. Not with your eyes. Look inside."

And then she felt as if she were slipping into a dream, the kind of dream that comes quickly, in a light, cozy sleep, like dozing in an armchair by the fire. An image opened up before her of a large room, and she felt like she'd walked into it, but she couldn't see the entire room. Her field of vision became blurry around the edges, like looking through the bottom of a glass.

The room was a monochromatic greenish-white, brightly lit by steel fixtures that hung from the ceiling like upside down umbrellas. A steel counter and cabinets lined the wall on the opposite side, and in the middle of the room, underneath the lights, lay an operating table.

Adam was wheeled right past her. Joan was so close to him as he came through the door, she couldn't even see the people at either end of the gurney, she could see only him. His eyes were open, apprehensive, darting around to take in everything in the room. He was fiddling with his hands, as he so often did when he was nervous, his long, dexterous fingers weaving and unweaving. Joan wanted to grab his hands, hold onto him, but she couldn't move, she couldn't reach out to him, couldn't break through the screen of this movie she was watching that seemed so very real.

The gurney lined up parallel to the operating table. Someone grasped the sheet that covered Adam and pulled it back. Joan could see now that he was dressed in a hospital gown, white with a tiny blue pattern in it. It ran down past his waist and stopped just above his knees. Joan could almost make out the strands of soft brown hair that curled over the white skin of his legs. But that was where the edge of this picture became blurry. Her eyes traveled back up the length of his body, and that was when she saw the IV tube running into his left arm, the end of it disappearing under a white piece of tape that puckered the skin just below the inside of his elbow. The sight of it was disturbing at first, but then she realized that Adam was noticeably less feverish and more alert now, so whatever they were giving him was doing the trick.

The two people who stood at either end of the gurney lifted him and slid him onto the operating table, and then the gurney rolled away. For a moment Adam looked cold and alone on that freestanding slab, and he crossed his arms across his chest for warmth, but his right hand ran into the IV tube, and a nurse gently took his arm and laid it down straight at his side. Another sheet was laid over him, a heavy, turquoise-colored one.

The surgeon entered now and spoke to Adam, but Joan couldn't hear the words that were exchanged. Adam nodded and smiled unconvincingly, and the surgeon patted him on the shoulder. And Joan was sure that the surgeon and the nurses and everyone else in that room saw the nods and the half-smile and thought that Adam was just fine with all of this, but Joan could see what they couldn't. She could see the fear in his eyes, she could see that he didn't trust the surgeon or anything the surgeon said, that he wouldn't trust, couldn't trust, any authority figure who was supposed to help him, for all the same reasons Joan couldn't, because the world was a darker place now than it had been when they'd left the warm safety of the Girardi home that evening.

And now the anesthetist stood behind him with a clear mask and placed it over Adam's nose and mouth, and Joan couldn't hear the words but she somehow knew they were telling him to close his eyes, and he closed his eyes but then opened them almost immediately. The fear in his eyes had not abated but simply set into a steely resolve, and he would not surrender to the anesthesia. Joan recognized that expression, the stiffness of his shoulders, the tension in his jaw – it was the countenance that fell over him whenever he saw Vice Principal Price, that look that was Adam suppressing his own natural vulnerability, that look that said he would not be hurt again.

Joan wanted to cry; her chest ached with sobs that could no longer come. All the fear that she felt, she realized that it was nothing compared to what Adam was dealing with. She wanted to climb under the turquoise sheet, lie on that table next to him, wrap her arms around him, warm him with her body and tell him that everything would be all right.

"Adam," she cried, trying desperately to get through to him, "Adam, listen to me. Please just go to sleep, and everything will be fine."

His eyelids drooped and slid closed, then opened again, but not as wide now. He turned his head toward her, and suddenly his deep brown eyes were looking right into her own. Through the clear mask she could see his lips move, and then she heard his voice.

"Jane…"

"Close your eyes," she called softly to him. "It's OK, Adam, you can let go. It will all be fine, I promise… I'm right here, and… I love you."

Adam's gaze warmed and held to hers for a moment. "Jane, I…"

And then his eyelids slid closed again, dark lashes resting against pale skin, and the strain in his face and shoulders eased, the corners of his mouth relaxed, and his lips parted slightly. Joan felt a wave of contentment wash over her, and she realized she was feeling what Adam was feeling, the chemical calm of anesthesia mingling with the true peace found in faith and love. And with contentment came drowsiness, and the blurry edges of the picture seeped into the picture itself, until everything was blurry, and the picture darkened until there was no picture at all, just a feeling that he was near her and warm and at peace.

"Joan," a voice called to her. It was a voice far away, a voice she recognized but couldn't put a face with. "Joan!" it called again. It was a male voice, persistent, urgent. And then she felt pressure on her shoulder, someone was shaking her. "Wake up, Joan."

She opened her eyes to see her father leaning over her. "Dad?" she murmured.

"I've been looking everywhere for you," said Will. "I thought you were going to get something to drink."

Her shoulder blades aching from the hardness of the wood beneath her, Joan became aware that she was lying down on the pew. She pulled herself up, drowsiness still haunting the corners of her mind. "How long was I asleep?"

"It's been almost an hour since you left the waiting room."

She sprang to her feet. "What?! What happened? Where's Adam?"

"Adam is in surgery. Everyone's waiting upstairs."

Joan was furious at herself. "How could I fall asleep?"

"You've been through a lot tonight, honey. When we go through very stressful situations, it takes a big toll on our bodies, and it's perfectly normal to become suddenly sleepy once the trauma has passed."

Failing to process this explanation, Joan muttered, "I can't believe I fell asleep."

Will slid his arm around her shoulders. "Come on, pumpkin. Let's go upstairs."

Joan let her father guide her down the hall and into an elevator. He pressed the button for the third floor, and when they emerged, they were in another waiting room, this one more relaxing and quieter that the ER waiting room. The sign above the double doors to their right read SURGERY.

She noticed Kevin first, because the wheelchair stood out among the gray-cushioned armchairs. Grace and Luke sat opposite him.

Farther away sat her mother with Adam's father, Helen resting her hand gently on Mr. Rove's arm. He looked tired and tense, leaning forward with his hands planted on his knees for support. He appeared to have even more gray in his beard than he had the last time she'd seen him, and his shaggy hair hung down to his shoulders.

"_There's_ Joan!" Luke announced. Everyone looked up at her.

"I found her asleep in the chapel," Will explained.

Helen shook her head at Joan in disbelief. "What is it about you passing out in chapels?"

"Funny you should ask," Joan mumbled, flopping down in the chair next to Luke.

"Maybe she's overcome by the Holy Spirit," quipped Grace.

Joan raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Kevin gave her one of his patented big-brother looks and asked, "How you doin' there, kid?"

"I'm fine," she sighed.

"That was convincing," said Grace. "So I heard you and Rove had a run-in with the law."

Joan nodded and glanced sideways at Adam's father, who looked away when she caught his eyes on her. She knew he must want some explanation of what happened, and she felt obligated to say something. But she didn't know what to say.

All she could come up with was, "I'm sorry, Mr. Rove."

He nodded and sighed. "Thank you, Joan, but it doesn't sound like you have anything to be sorry for."

Joan knew that wasn't true, and the guilt was too much for her to keep inside. "I'm sorry I dragged Adam all the way across town to that stupid restaurant he didn't even want to go to."

Mr. Rove shook his head. "I saw Adam just before he left, when I gave him the car keys. He was so excited to be going out with you to a nice place, he didn't seem the least bit reluctant to me."

That thought warmed Joan's heart a little bit, but it did not ease her guilt. "I should've noticed something was wrong. He was so quiet, and I could tell he had a fever..."

"You wouldn't notice. I think he made up his mind to hide it." This came from Grace.

"What do you mean?" asked Joan, turning to her.

"I mean, Rove knew he was sick. He called me this morning, and he was talking about canceling. But then he called back later and said he'd just talked to you and you were so into it and he couldn't possibly cancel because you'd be so disappointed and –"

"What are you doing?" Luke demanded, cutting her off.

Grace was startled by his tone, but she looked back at Luke coolly and replied, "Calm down, Girardi. I'm just relaying the facts."

"Joan already feels guilty. Why are you trying to make her feel worse?"

"I'm not."

"Yes, you are. You're making it sound like this is all her fault, just because she wanted to go on a date with her boyfriend."

"No, I don't think it's Joan's fault that Rove has an appendicitis. I'm simply pointing out that it was my understanding that he did not wish to go to that restaurant, because, let's face it, why would he?"

Luke nodded his head as if he'd just solved a puzzle. "So you're mad because no one asked your opinion on where they should go on their date?"

Her steel gaze still locked on him, Grace replied, "No one minds their own business as well as I do. So back off, Girardi."

"Kids!" called Helen. "Let's all just relax. It's late, everyone's worried about Adam, emotions are running high, let's try to be civil, can we?"

This plea was pretty much ignored by the kids in question.

"Grace, are you mad at me?" asked Joan.

"Who said anything about being mad? We were fine until your baby brother started in on me."

"He's just trying to stick up for me."

"Yeah," Grace scoffed. "How sweet."

"I'm sorry I never really talked to you about this whole date thing."

Grace threw up her hands emphatically. "For the last time, I don't care where you and Rove went for your pre-conjugal foodfest. I was talking strictly in terms of Rove's point of view. Forget I mentioned it. We'll just pretend this is The Bizarro World, where he's all about steak tartare and cloth napkins. There, ya happy?"

"Hey," Kevin interjected. "Leave Joan alone. She doesn't need this right now."

Grace folded her arms and snarked, "Wow, it's touching how the Girardis are all closing ranks." She turned her glare back to Luke for several seconds, until finally she jumped up. "I don't need this," she said, stalking away.

"Grace, don't leave!" Helen called after her.

Grace replied over her shoulder as she stepped into the elevator, "Don't worry, Mrs. G. I'm sticking around until I make sure Rove comes out of there in one piece. But in the meantime, I have a sudden craving for an overpriced candy bar."

Joan watched her go, ambivalent to what just happened. A spat seemed so irrelevant after something as heavy as mind-melding with your boyfriend. She looked at the doors that led into Surgery, and thought, _I was inside there_… _wasn't I? Or was that a dream?_

When the elevator doors had closed on Grace, Will turned to his wife and asked, "Did she say 'pre-conjugal'?"

Helen smiled and patted his arm. "No, dear. You heard wrong."

"Oh. OK, good."

One of the Surgery doors opened, and a nurse stuck her head out. Everyone looked up expectantly, but she directed her words only to Will. "Detective Girardi, we got a message asking if you could go back down to the ER."

"Thank you," he replied, standing up. "I'll be back in a minute. Anyone need anything? Carl, a cup of coffee?"

"No, thank you," Mr. Rove replied.

"Helen?"

"Oh, no, it's after ten. I'd never get to sleep."

Joan looked up at the clock. It read 10:20. Could it really be that early? She felt like she'd been at the hospital all night. So much had happened in so little time, and it was catching up with her. She closed her eyes, and she might have dozed off had she not felt an arm wrap around her. She opened her eyes to see her mother sitting next to her.

"You looked like you might fall over," Helen smiled.

"I'm so tired, Mom."

Luke turned to his sister and asked, "You want me to get you some coffee?"

"And now I'm scared. Luke is offering to do nice things for me. What's going on?"

Luke uttered an exasperated sigh. "I don't know why I bother. I try to help. I tried to help Grace, I called her to tell her what was going on, I got Kevin to go pick her up when she insisted that we go to the hospital. And now she's mad at me. I offer to get my sister a coffee, and she makes fun of me." He stood up. "I might as well just go and – "

"Sit down." Joan grabbed his arm and pulled him back down into his seat. "You're not going anywhere. No more storming off allowed."

"Luke, Grace isn't mad at you," said Helen.

"No," Joan agreed. "She's mad at _me_."

"Wrong again," her mother replied. "Grace is mad at one person. Grace."

"Huh?" said Luke.

"If you listened to what she said, she was trying to tell you that she knew Adam was sick. Joan, you didn't know, but Grace did, and she didn't do anything about it, didn't call you to tell you, because she was minding her own business, and she trusted Adam to do what was best. I'm not saying she did the wrong thing, but in this case, the worst happened, and I can see why she's upset." Helen brushed back the hair hanging in Joan's face and tucked it behind her ear, so she could look her daughter straight in the eyes. "Grace doesn't blame you for what happened, Joan. She blames herself."

Joan mulled this over and nodded. "Wow, Mom. That's deep."

"Yeah," Luke concurred. "How'd you read Grace so easily? You barely know her. I've been working on her all year."

"It comes with age. The great trade-off: you get wrinkles, you get wise to things."

"Hmm. Maybe you could write me a manual."

"Sorry, Luke. If I gave you the roadmap, your teen years wouldn't be nearly as much of a trip. But I will give you one piece of advice: Don't get so jealous. Grace loves Adam, but not the way your sister does."

Luke nodded. "Got it."

Joan reached over and patted her brother's hand. "I think I'll take you up on that coffee offer now."

"Sure." Luke stood up and walked to the elevator just as the Surgery doors opened again and the same nurse walked out.

"Mr. Rove, your son is in Recovery now, if you'd like to see him."

"Thank you." Mr. Rove stood up slowly, using the arms of the chair. "How is he?"

"He's perfect. He's still pretty sleepy from the anesthesia, but the operation was smooth as silk."

Joan watched anxiously as the nurse held the door open for Mr. Rove. "Wait – " she called, her voice more plaintive that she would have liked. "When can I… we…"

"Family only, right now," the nurse explained.

Mr. Rove gave Joan a weary smile and said, "Tell you what, I'll get them to bring him out ASAP. You'll owe me one." He winked at her and then followed the nurse. The doors closed again behind them.

The waiting room was very quiet. They were now down to Joan, her mother, and Kevin, and that was good, because these were two people Joan didn't mind crying in front of, which is what she was doing now.

"Hey, what's the matter?" asked Kevin, noticing the tears running down his sister's cheeks.

"I'm just… relieved," she explained. A smile spread across her face, and she started laughing.

Kevin shook his head. "You really are kind of nuts."

"Kevin…" Helen warned.

"In a good way," he added.

Helen helped wipe away her daughter's tears. "It's a lot to deal with in one day."

"Yeah," Joan sniffled. "Some first date, huh?"

"But everything's fine now. That's what matters. You heard the nurse -- Adam is perfect."

"Adam's always been perfect. I don't know why it took me so long to figure that out."

"Well," sighed Helen. "No argument here."

The elevator doors opened, and Will stepped out holding a cup of coffee. He walked over to join his family.

"Finally!" said Joan. She reached up and took the coffee out of his hands.

"Um…" Will started. Watching his daughter take a sip, he mumbled, "That was mine."

Joan swallowed and made a face. "I like cream and sugar," she said, handing it back to him.

"Duly noted." Will sat down next to Joan in what had been Luke's seat.

"What happened downstairs?" Joan asked.

"They got the toxicology report back."

"And?"

"No alcohol. No drugs. He was completely clean."

Joan nodded. "So what happens now?"

"Joan, I know you don't want to hear this, but Officer Grady feels terrible about what happened."

"He'll feel even more terrible when he's flipping pancakes at IHOP."

The elevator doors opened again, and Luke emerged, holding a cup of coffee and a large handful of sugar and creamer packets.

"Now, _there's_ a guy who speaks my language," said Joan. She reached for the cup just as she noticed that Grace had followed Luke out of the elevator.

"I found her skulking around downstairs by the nursery," he explained.

"I was not skulking. I don't skulk. Shut up."

"I'm sorry," said Luke quickly. "I didn't mean to wrongly accuse you of… skulking."

Joan couldn't believe her ears.  "The _nursery_, Grace?  You like looking at babies?"

"Babies?  Yuck.  I bought a frozen burrito from a vending machine, but then the microwave was broken, so I went down to the neonatal unit to see if they'd let me put it in an incubator. They were so snotty. Anyway, where's Rove? Brainiac here said he was out of surgery."

"His dad is in with him," said Joan. "They're supposed to be coming out soon."

Grace walked over and dropped into a chair away from everyone. Joan grabbed the handful of sugar and creamers from Luke and went over to sit by Grace. Neither of the girls said anything, but Grace watched as Joan ripped open a creamer packet and dumped its contents into the steaming cup. This was followed by another creamer packet, then another, and then –

"Jesus, Girardi. Why don't you just have a glass of milk?"

Joan stuck a swizzle stick in the cup and stirred, then tasted. Still not right. Ripping open another packet she said, "Grace, I'm sorry we all ganged up on you. Brothers are like that. When they sense you're in danger, they attack. It's actually one of their better qualities."

"Whatever. You know I'm not into the whole apology thing."

Joan turned to face her friend and laid a hand on her shoulder.

Grace looked down at Joan's hand as if it were something that crawled up and died. "I'm even less into the hug thing," she warned.

"I love you, Grace."

"Oh, God."

Joan smiled and began the exacting process of adding the sugar to her coffee. Grace continued to watch her, helplessly fascinated.

After another minute of silence, Grace's tone turned solemn. "You know… he hates needles."

"I know."

"Needles, doctors, hospitals, all of it."

"I know."

"I know you know. That's my point. When I got here, and Rove was already under the knife, and your parents didn't know where you were, I was sitting here freaking out, and I'm thinking, Joan will get it. Joan's the only one who will get it."

Joan and Grace made eye contact, and they both nodded slowly. "Yeah," said Joan.

Luke sat down next to Grace. "Are we OK?" he asked her.

"Were we ever OK?"

"Good point." He looked at the giant pile of creamer carcass sitting on the arm of Joan's chair. "What is she doing?"

"Dude, shh," Grace whispered. "I think she's almost achieved alchemy."

"Joan," Helen called. Joan looked at her mother, who pointed to the Surgery doors.

The doors were opening electronically, revealing a hallway going straight back. Down the hallway came two nurses wheeling a gurney straight toward them, with Mr. Rove following.

Joan jumped up, almost spilling her coffee. Grace followed. They went to the doorway.

This was a different gurney than the one Adam had been on before. This one was deeper, more comfortable-looking, with railings up on all four sides making it resemble a large crib. Turquoise sheets enveloped the person beneath them, so much so that the gurney drew close before Joan could even tell that it was Adam inside.

The sight was intimidating, and rather than running into Adam's arms, as she had fantasized their reunion, she was actually afraid to touch him. Not that there was much of him to touch. His hands and arms were buried underneath the sheets, which were pulled up almost to his chin, leaving his face the only skin exposed. His eyes were closed, and the flush of fever that had been with him all evening was gone, and now he looked so pale that Joan was struck by the contrast of his dark pink lips against his skin.

"Is he awake?" she asked.

"Yeah," Mr. Rove replied. "He's been asking for you." He laid a hand on Adam's shoulder and raised his voice slightly. "Adam, Joan's here."

Adam's eyes slowly opened. He seemed disoriented at first, but then he found her face and focused on her. He smiled. "Jane. Hey."

Joan approached the gurney cautiously, and the nurse nearest her stepped back to make room for her at Adam's side. She rested her hands on the low railing.

"Hey," she said softly. She looked down at him and didn't know what else to say, so she went with the obvious. "How are you feeling?"

"I feel great. It's funny, actually…"

"What's funny?"

"Painkillers, yo. I spent so long trying to convince that cop that I wasn't on drugs, and now I'm high as a kite."

Joan laughed, and then stopped abruptly. "Adam, that's not funny."

Stepping up next to Joan, Grace laughed, "Well, Rove, save some for us, will ya?"

Adam smiled at her. "Grace. Cool." He raised his eyebrows and looked around at all the faces gathered at his bedside. "This is all very Wizard of Oz, yo."

Luke stepped up behind Grace. "Hey, Adam."

"Look, Dorothy, it's Scarecrow!" said Grace.

"Don't forget Tin Man," Kevin called, rolling over to them.

Luke leaned over Grace's shoulder and said to her, "I guess that makes you the Cowardly Lion."

"How do you figure?"

"All tough on the outside, soft and chewy inside."

Grace whipped around and stabbed a finger into Luke's chest. "Don't ever say 'soft and chewy' to me again."

Both of them laughing, Joan and Adam found each other's gaze again. "So am I Glinda the Good Witch?" she asked him.  "I always wanted to be Glinda."

"You're Auntie Em," he replied.

"Auntie Em? But she's so old, and… a relative."

"Chah, she's the one Dorothy saw in the crystal ball when she was trapped in the castle."

"What are you talking about?" Joan asked, but as soon as she said it, she knew exactly what he was talking about.

"I had a dream about you, Jane, while I was under, and it was so real, and you were --"

Joan laid her fingers on his lips and shushed him. "We'll talk about that later."

"Yeah, Rove, have a little decorum," said Grace. "Your dad is standing right here. And Joan's parents. And I just ate."

"OK, folks," said one of the nurses. "We have to get him upstairs. Visiting hours are over, but you can come back tomorrow morning at ten."

Joan's fingers still rested on Adam's lips. She didn't want to move. She wasn't ready to be separated from him again. He looked up at her, and then his lips parted and he kissed her fingers, almost taking them into his mouth. Joan gasped softly, and she looked around to see if anyone had heard her, but no one was looking at her. Her eyes fell back on Adam's; his gaze hadn't wavered at all. She slowly slid her fingers off his mouth, rolling his lower lip down slightly as she did so. She brought her fingers up to her own lips and blew him a kiss.

"I'll see you tomorrow," she said.

"I'll be here."

A chorus of voices called, "Goodnight, Adam," and "Glad you're OK," as Joan's family members and Grace made their way back to the waiting room.

"Goodnight," he called to them. "Um… thanks for coming?" He grimaced at Joan, wondering if this was the right thing to say. She laughed.

The gurney started moving again, and Joan followed with it to the elevator.

"Can I go up with you?" she asked.

"I'm sorry," the nurse replied. "Tomorrow."

The elevator doors slid open. Joan let go of the gurney, and it rolled into the elevator without her.

"Wait!" Adam shouted.

"Adam," his father said, "we have to get upstairs."

"I forgot to tell Jane something."

Mr. Rove looked at the nurse, who nodded permission. He held the elevator door open and beckoned Joan inside. She stepped up and grasped the foot of the gurney.

"What?" she asked.

Adam lifted his head up so he could see her. He just looked at her for a moment, then smiled. "This was the best date I've ever had, yo."

Joan laughed. "You _are_ high."

Adam nodded. "Good night, Jane."

"Good night, Adam." She stepped back, and the elevator doors closed right before her face.


	5. A Happy Ending?

Joan awoke the next morning to sunlight filling her room and setting the warm peach of her walls ablaze with its glow. As she untwisted herself from the sheets and sat up and stretched, she felt well-rested, which was strange after having woken up so many times in the night. It wasn't until she looked at the clock that she realized why she felt so awake. It was after ten.

"Mom!" Joan screamed as she ran down the stairs. She stormed into the kitchen to find her brothers at the breakfast table and her mother at the stove, making pancakes.

"Don't scream. It's Sunday," said Helen.

"Why didn't you wake me up? Visiting hours started at ten. I should be at the hospital by now!"

"Because I thought you could use the sleep, and because Adam will be there all day, so there's plenty of time for you to –"

"But I wanted to be there as soon –"

"I'm not finished! _And_ because you should let his father get there first."

"Why? He got to stay with Adam last night."

"Adam was loopy last night, and besides, I don't think Mr. Rove was spending the night there."

"But –"

"And Joan, you didn't really talk to Mr. Rove last night. You didn't see how upset he was. When I picked him up at his house…" Helen paused, emotion rising in her voice. "He lost his wife a few years ago, Joan…"

"I know."

"And then the hospital calls him and tells him his son is very sick and needs emergency surgery. Can you imagine? Adam is all he has, all he cares about. And all I want you to do is think about somebody besides yourself for a minute."

"I'm thinking about Adam."

"I know you are, and I know you love him, but you're not a parent, and you don't know the kind of love that…" Her voice caught as tears welled up in her eyes.

"Great," Luke griped. "You had to go and make Mom cry. Just when we were about to eat."

"How do you do that?" Joan asked her mother. "I walk in here mad at you, and thirty seconds later I'm the one who feels bad." She slumped sullenly into a chair at the table with her brothers.

Kevin gave her a long look and probed, "So… you're in love with this guy?"

Joan rolled her head forward and raised a sardonic eyebrow at him. "Can we not discuss my love life over breakfast?"

"See! You said 'love.'" He nodded to Luke. "She said it."

Joan heard the stomp of feet up the back porch. The back door opened, and her father walked in, dressed in work clothes and not his usual Sunday morning leisure clothes.

"Oh, good, you made it," Helen called to him from the stove.

"Did you go to work, Dad?" asked Kevin.

"Just for a couple hours," Will replied. "Some things I had to tend to."

Joan looked up at him. "About last night?"

Her father hesitated, but he knew there was no point in keeping it from her. "Yes."

"I hope you put that guy in jail."

Will sighed and sat down at the table next to her. "He's not going to jail, Joan."

"If he weren't a cop but just some other guy who beat up a sick kid, he'd be in jail."

Helen set a plate of pancakes on the table. "Can we not talk about this?" she pleaded. "It's Sunday."

"Mom, what does the day of the week have to do with anything? No one cares." Joan turned back to her father. "I'm right, Dad, aren't I? If he weren't a cop, he'd be in jail."

"Possibly. But he is a cop."

"_Was_ a cop."

Will kept silent as he stabbed a fork into a pancake and dragged it onto his plate.

Joan gawked at him. "Not 'was'? He's getting fired, right, Dad? You're not letting him stay on the force, are you?"

"It's not up to me, Joan."

"So what, he gets some slap on the wrist, and then he's back out there harassing people?"

"He might get suspended for a week, maybe longer, and he'll probably have to attend a class or –"

"Did you say 'might'? You mean he might just go back to work like nothing happened?"

"Joan, these incidents are much more common than you realize..."

"And that makes it OK?"

"…And being a cop is much harder than you realize. Officer Grady works a very tough beat. He deals with violent criminals every day."

"He wasn't dealing with a violent criminal. He was dealing with Adam! Not violent. Not a criminal. Not even able to stand up at the time, if I remember correctly."

"What I'm saying is, that kind of work requires a particular type of attitude, a hardness. There aren't a lot who want to work a beat like Archer Parkway. The older ones get promoted out of there, and the newer, younger ones come in, and those are the guys with the least experience and who only survive if they're suspicious of everyone."

"But Dad --"

"I worked a beat like that once, Joan, years ago, before I made detective. And it got to the point where I didn't think I could go home anymore and hold my little children and be gentle and normal."

"I can't believe you're defending him."

"I'm not defending him. I think Officer Grady crossed the line, but I also know that the line in question is a lot further out than you think it is. So don't be surprised if the police department wants to give him a second chance."

"But what about Adam? Doesn't he deserve some kind of justice?"

"Adam will probably be taken care of by the city."

"What do you mean?"

"They'll reach some kind of settlement."

"A settlement, like, financial settlement? How does that happen?"

"The mayor doesn't like it when headlines hit about people getting pushed around by cops. This one certainly wouldn't look good, an innocent kid with acute appendicitis whose father is an employee of the department. Especially since several witnesses saw the officer strike Adam in the chest while he was lying in a hospital bed. The city will want to keep it quiet and settle it quickly to head off the bad publicity that a lawsuit brings."

"So what you're saying is, Adam gets money for getting beat up?"

"This is all speculation, honey. I don't know yet what's going to happen."

"But you think Adam will get money."

"That's how this usually works."

"How much money?"

"That will depend on how good an attorney Adam's father hires."

"But, ballpark figure, what does a good night's harassment usually get you?"

"If Adam sustained injuries, or if the harassment exacerbated his illness, it could go high. But probably not more than a hundred thousand."

"A hundred thousand?!"

"Joan, I really don't know. There are so many variables, and no guarantees."

"Dad, you don't understand. The Roves are really struggling. Adam has to work full time all summer to support them. They're barely getting by. A hundred thousand dollars would change his life!"

"I know."

"I mean, this could be what allows Adam to go to college."

"He knows, Joan," said Helen, nodding slowly, a tiny smile playing on her lips.

Joan looked back and forth between her parents, and that was when she realized why her father was telling her all of this. She stood up. "I have to go to the hospital."

"You have to eat breakfast first," said her mother.

"Joan, this isn't something you should trouble Adam with right now," Will advised. "Let him recuperate. Wait a couple days."

"Sure." She grabbed a pancake off the plate and stuffed it in her mouth as she ran upstairs to get dressed.

* * *

Joan drove herself to the hospital. She didn't want anyone going with her. She wanted to be alone with Adam.

She went in the front entrance this time, avoiding the emergency room and all the bad memories it stirred up in her when she thought about it. She took the elevator up to the fourth floor and checked in at the nurses' station. A woman at the desk directed her to room 412.

She found Adam sitting propped up against the raised back of the hospital bed. He was wearing the white and blue hospital gown she remembered from the night before. A white blanket was pulled up to his waist, and an IV tube still ran into his left arm. He was speaking softly to his father, who sat in a chair on the opposite side of Adam's bed. Both father and son looked much better than they had the night before. Behind Mr. Rove a large window let sunlight flood the room, and the picture of the two of them was almost cheerful.

"Good morning," Joan greeted them. She stood in the doorway, not sure if she was interrupting.

Adam looked over at her and smiled. "Jane!"

"Hi, Joan," said Mr. Rove. He stood up, as if expecting her. "I was just on my way out. I gotta go get Adam some stuff he wants from home."

Joan was relieved, because she really didn't want her conversation with Adam to take place in front of his father. But then she remembered her mother's words, and guilt crept over her, and she said quickly, "Mr. Rove, you don't have to leave."

He turned to Adam, who gave him a look that said in no uncertain terms that he did indeed have to leave. Mr. Rove nodded at his son and smiled.

"I'll give you kids some time alone."

"Thanks, Dad," said Adam.

Joan now finally walked into the room. As Mr. Rove passed her on his way out, he said softly to her, "See if you can get him to eat something."

She nodded, and as she walked up to Adam's bed she noticed a bowl and spoon sitting on a rolling tray table. The bowl was filled with green gelatin.

"They give you Jello for breakfast?" she asked.

"Chah, it's the only thing they'll let me eat. And it's not even good Jello."

Joan gazed at him, taking in how good he looked, how good it felt to see him healthy. His face, which had been so flushed all evening and then so frighteningly pale after his surgery, had returned to its normal color. His dark hair was cutely disheveled, a few errant curls sticking straight up. He looked tired, perhaps a bit groggy from medication, perhaps just worn out from a traumatic night, but other than that, he looked like her Adam.

"But if they want you to eat Jello, you should eat it," she said.

"I'll eat later. I want to talk to you."

"Yeah, I need to talk to you, too."

She walked around his bed and sat down in the chair.

Adam looked at her, confused. "What are you doing?"

"Um… sitting?"

"I mean, what are you doing _over there_?"

Joan smiled apologetically. She got up and sat down instead on the edge of his bed, facing him. Adam leaned forward to kiss her but then winced and reached for his stomach.

"Oh!" Joan cried. "Are you OK?"

"I'm fine," he groaned, leaning back with a frustrated sigh. "I'm not fragile, Jane. I just have a small incision right here." He touched the lower right side of his stomach. "But other than that, I'm good. So come here." He crooked a finger at her invitingly.

Joan knew that the incision wasn't all that was wrong with him. He probably hadn't looked in a mirror that morning, she guessed, but she could see the red swelling on his forehead, where his face had hit the pavement when the cop threw him down. Anger welled up in her, but she suppressed it for the moment and leaned into him to kiss him.

Adam reached up to cup her face with his right hand, and his soft lips opened up and drew her in, and then, to her surprise, she felt his tongue gently emerging to lick at her own. He tasted sweet, like the gelatin he'd been trying to eat. It was a very intimate kiss on Adam's part, as if acknowledging everything they'd been through together, and it was more passionate than Joan was expecting from someone who'd just had surgery. Not wanting him to get overexcited, she gave him a closing peck and pulled away. As much as she'd been craving a kiss like that, she now had other things on her mind.

The disappointment was apparent in his voice and on his face. "Jane…" he whispered, his hand still reaching out to touch her cheek and then finally dropping away. "What's the matter?"

She cocked her head toward the open door of his room. "It's not like we have a lot of privacy right now. Besides, I…"

"What?"

"I just… I'm so angry about what happened to you."

Adam closed his eyes and dropped his head. He gathered his thoughts for a moment and then looked up at her. "I can't rehash last night right now. I'm not ready."

"I'm sorry, I just…"

"I'm OK, Jane. Really. And… we're OK, right?"

"Of course we're OK. We're better than OK. I…"

"What?" he asked, his eyes searching hers.

"I feel like we're even…"

"Closer than we were before?" he whispered.

"Yeah."

Adam smiled softly. "Yeah, I feel that, too."

"And I…"

"What?" he asked, more intensely now, almost eager.

"Well…" She stopped herself. "You don't want to talk about last night."

Disappointed again, Adam dropped his gaze, but then he brightened and looked back up at her. "Actually, there _is_ one thing about it that I do want to talk to you about. See, the thing is, as totally bent as last night was, I woke up this morning feeling like, like something…"

"Like something good would come out of it?"

He smiled. "I love it when you read my mind." He took her hands in his, and one of his thumbs drew a circle in her palm.

"Adam, that's exactly what I'm talking about. Something good comes out of everything. And I know it sounds crazy, but I've learned that things work out for the best, no matter how bad it looks, and you just don't always see it at first, but it's there. And I didn't see it last night, but then this morning I talked to my dad and –"

"Your dad?" The expression on Adam's face changed completely. Now he just looked confused.

"You need to get a lawyer, Adam."

"What?" His brow furrowed, and he let go of her hands. "That's really not where I was going at all."

"I'm serious. You have to sue the police department."

"Whoa, Jane, slow down. What are you talking about?"

"I talked to my dad this morning, and he thinks that cop is going to get away with what he did to you. He's not going to get fired or anything."

For a brief moment, a shadow passed over Adam's eyes. His mouth opened to say something, but he was silent, so she continued.

"I don't know what's going to happen to him, actually," she admitted. "But the police department will have to pay, if you file a lawsuit. They'll settle to avoid publicity."

Adam looked at her steadily. He seemed to consider what she was saying, and she could see the wheels turning in his head. He closed his mouth and then opened it again to speak. "I'm not suing the police department, Jane. That's ridiculous."

"But… it could be a lot of money."

Adam shook his head. "The only people who get rich from lawsuits are lawyers."

"You've been hanging around Grace too much."

"Grace is right about a lot of things."

"I don't think she'd want you to take this lying down. I mean, what that cop did to you, this is like some kind of civil rights violation or something. Don't you think so?"

"I can't sue the police department. My dad works there, or, is _trying_ to work there. He wants to get his job back. How would it look if he sued his employer?"

"Adam, with a big settlement, your dad might not have to work."

"It's not just about _having_ to work. He _wants_ to work."

"But nobody wants to be a janitor."

As soon as she saw the look on his face, Joan realized what she'd said. Adam turned his gaze to the window and swallowed.

Joan tried to cover. "I mean, not that there's anything wrong with being a janitor, I just mean that it wasn't, like, his career goal… was it?"

Adam wouldn't look at her. He stared down at his hands. "My dad may not have a cool important job like your dad, but he always worked hard to provide for his family."

"Adam --"

"Jane --" He looked up at her as he cut her off, the tone of his voice telling her to let him finish. "He's always taken care of me. And now he has to sit home and watch me go off to work, watch me come home late and tired and not get my homework done. He hates sitting around the house, watching TV, feeling useless. It's only been a month, and he's already miserable." Adam paused, swallowed, and looked down. "He started drinking again…"

Joan covered her mouth. "Oh, Adam, I didn't know…"

"I didn't want…" He stopped, avoiding her gaze, tears in his eyes. When Joan tried to take his hands, he pulled them away and crossed his arms. But with the IV making this uncomfortable, he lay his left arm back down and with his right hand grabbed the tray table and rolled it in between them. He looked at the Jello and frowned, then cleared his throat and asked, "What time is it?"

Joan looked at the clock on the bedside table and replied, "Eleven thirty."

"I wonder what time lunch comes. They said I could have solid food for lunch. I'm starving."

"Why don't you have some Jello?"

"I don't want Jello."

"Do you want me to go get you something? I bet they're still serving breakfast in the cafeteria."

"Yeah, some eggs and hash-browns would be great."

"You think it's OK for you to eat that?"

"I don't know. I'm just hungry. I'd even take some yogurt or something. Anything, as long as it's not Jello."

Joan slid off the bed and stood up. "OK, I'll be back in a minute."

Adam didn't say anything else. He had already turned his head to look out the window.


	6. God's Gift

As Joan walked out into the hallway, tears stung her eyes. She was amazed once again by her own unfailing ability to screw everything up. She was sure that if she'd kept talking, Adam would've ended up feeling even worse than he did while being pinned against his car the previous night. The tears spilled over as she rode the elevator down to the first floor, and she wiped at her face as she walked into the cafeteria.

The large room was pretty empty, but there was a short line at the counter, two people ahead of her as she stepped up. The man directly in front of her was heavy-set and had a giant white brace wrapped around his upper body that looked like a corset. She wondered how he could breathe in that thing. He turned around and caught her staring at him. She smiled awkwardly and looked at the ground.

"Hello, Joan," he said.

Joan looked back up at him, wanting to yell, wanting to cry, wanting to spew vitriol and launch into yet another diatribe about how unfair this all was. But instead she just looked at his brace and asked sardonically, "What happened to you?"

"I pulled my back trying to lift this really heavy rock," God explained.

"Really?"

"No, not really. But it begs an interesting question…"

"I'm not in the mood."

"That I can see. What are you doing here?"

"You know what I'm doing here."

"Then allow me to rephrase. Why are you buying food for Adam when he's supposed to eat the Jello?" It was now God's turn in line, and he turned to the woman behind the counter and said, "Two cups of coffee, please. Light and sweet."

"He doesn't want the Jello," said Joan.

"It's your job to _make_ him eat the Jello."

"Is that what it is? Swallow the bitter pill, because that's life, that's all there is, and it's never going to be any different for him? I thought everything was supposed to work out for the best!"

"Lots of things in life don't work out for the best. But the things I ask you to do, those things do work out for the best. You've learned that by now."

"I thought I did. I thought this whole date thing would have a happy ending. I thought Adam could sue the police department and get rich and quit the stupid hotel job and focus on school and his art and be able to go to college and live happily ever after. I looked at the dark cloud and saw the silver lining, and you know what I got? Rained on!"

God nodded. "I know it must seem that way. But the big picture I told you about? It's so much bigger than you can imagine."

The counterwoman set down two cups of coffee and said, "That'll be three-fifty."

"Thanks." God handed her four dollars from his wallet. She handed him back fifty cents, and he dropped it in the tip jar. He picked up the cups of coffee and turned back to Joan. "Let's go sit down."

The cafeteria was mostly empty, but God led Joan all the way over to a small table by a window. They both sat, and God set down a cup of coffee in front of her. She picked it up, eyed it suspiciously, and sipped. It was perfect.

They sat quietly for several moments, sipping coffee. Finally, God asked, "What time did Adam go into surgery last night?"

"I don't know. I was asleep… or something." She took another sip of her coffee, lost in the memory. She looked up and God and said, "Thank you for that."

"You're welcome. And to fill you in on the timeline, it was 9:45."

"OK."

"So the next question is, where would you and Adam have been at 9:45 last night if you hadn't wandered onto Archer Parkway?"

Confused, Joan looked up at him and shrugged. "I don't know."

"It's called 'the Socratic method,' Joan. I'm trying to engage you in a logical progression."

"So you mean, if we took the highway home?"

"Yeah, let's start there."

"I don't know. The way Adam was driving, we probably would've got in a wreck."

"So that was a good choice."

Joan looked down at her coffee. "I would have rather been in a car accident than see what I saw last night."

"You mean the police officer? But he was the one who took Adam to the hospital."

"Yeah, after practically cracking his skull open on the sidewalk."

"But if you hadn't been on Archer Parkway, and no cop stopped you to look for drugs, where would you have ended up?"

"Back at my house, I guess. I wouldn't have let him drive home from there."

"No, you wouldn't have. And Adam would still have been at your house at 9:45, and not in an operating room. Likewise if you'd gone to a restaurant closer to home."

"What are you saying?"

"If you hadn't gone out with Adam last night, he would have gone to bed thinking he had a stomach flu. He wouldn't tell his father because he wouldn't want him to worry, and his appendix would burst while he was alone in his bed. And that would have been devastating to his system."

Joan felt a chill run down her spine and into the dark pit that had settled in her stomach. "Are you trying to tell me that there's some parallel universe in which Adam… _died_ last night?"

"There are a thousand different possibilities, Joan, none of them written in stone. A thousand parallel threads, like the threads that make up a string. Ask Luke about string theory."

"I don't want to know about strings! I want to know if Adam would have died."

"That possibility would exist only if you and Adam were not dating. If he were with Iris or any other girl, he would have cancelled his Saturday night plans and stayed home. But with you, Joan… he would always choose to be with you. Of course, even with the two of you together, there are still so many 'if's'. If your brother hadn't been paralyzed in a drunk driving accident, you might not have been so scared that you'd make Adam take the side streets. And if Adam had never started posing as a dope fiend to throw Price off his trail, that officer probably wouldn't have assumed he was on drugs and would have let you two just go on your way. Do you see the threads, Joan?"

"But as long as Adam and I are together, he lives, right? That's what you said."

"With you and Adam together, but not on Archer Parkway, Adam's appendix would still have burst, but you would have been with him when it happened, and you would have gotten him to the hospital. But at that stage, his entire body would be ravaged by toxins; his kidneys would fail; he'd be dependent on a dialysis machine while he waited for a transplant."

Joan stared at God, too horrified to even cry. And then an even more terrifying thought occurred to her. "There's a window into that world, isn't there? You could show it to me."

"I could show you anything. I'm omnipotent."

"So that means it's real," she cried, her voice shaking. "All those horrible things happened, somewhere, in some alternate reality. If you can show it to me, then it must be real."

"I could show it to you, Joan, but that doesn't make it real. It would be like showing you a movie, a representation of something, like a dramatic recreation. The only thing that's real is what happened here last night. And that's all that matters. Adam had a minor surgery, and he will recover completely. The two of you beat probability, Joan. You pulled the arm of the cosmic slot machine, and you hit the jackpot. When you made Adam go on a date with you last night, you saved his life."

"No, _you_ saved his life. That's why you gave me the restaurant guide, right? To put us on the right thread?"

"There! Now you're starting to ask the right questions. But you're still not thinking Big Picture, Joan. You've been hanging by a thread for some time, you and Adam."

"How much bigger can the picture get?"

"The tricky thing about the universe is that many of the things with the greatest value are the very things that sheer probability would tend to prevent. What are the odds of finding the one person who is most in need of your particular gifts, the likelihood of that same person having what you need? What are the chances that you'd have the opportunity to be together, and the ability to hold on to it in a dangerous world and not let it die? You see, Joan, true love is the biggest jackpot of them all."

Staring down at her coffee, Joan nodded and tried to take this all in. The vice grip around her stomach began to relax, and the emotional see-saw she was riding slowly tipped the other way. She started to see just how precarious her place in the universe really was, and the realization both terrified and thrilled her. She began to understand what a blessing was.

"Can I ask a question?" she whispered, barely able to get the words out.

"Sure."

"How did I get so lucky?"

God nodded as if this were exactly the right question. "You've been a good servant, Joan. You do what I ask you to. You do a lot of things I don't have to ask you to. You give of yourself. You genuinely care about others, even strangers. You've learned and grown, and you've improved people's lives in the process. You deserve a little something." God tilted his coffee cup back to take the last sip, and then set down the cup and smiled at her. "This is my gift to you, Joan."

Joan found that she could not close her mouth. She sat there, stunned, staring at her Creator sitting before her in a corset brace and a plaid shirt and five o'clock shadow before noon, and for the first time she could see past the outfit, past the hair color, past the skin color, past the gender, past the corporeal mask before her…

And what she saw was Love.

He had one more thing to say: "All I ask of you, Joan, is that you don't waste that gift."

A solitary tear trickled down her cheek and dropped into her coffee cup. She stood up, swallowed, and found her voice. "Thank you," was all she said.

She turned and ran out of the cafeteria, ran down the hallway, ran past the elevator and took the stairs. When she stopped running, she was in the doorway of Adam's room.

Grace sat in the chair next to his bed. They were laughing about something.

"Hey, Joan," said Grace, spotting her in the doorway.

"Hi, Grace. Get out."

"What?!"

"Goodbye. Go." Joan leaned against the door jam, trying to catch her breath.

"What's up your butt, Girardi?"

"Leave now or I will hug you."

Grace leapt to her feet. "You don't have to start with the physical threats."

Adam, both horrified and amused, looked back and forth between his best friend and his girlfriend.

"It's nothing personal," explained Joan. "You just have to leave. I have a sudden and urgent need to be intimate with Adam."

"Whoa!" cried Grace, hands up. "Oversharing!"

Adam smiled and raised his hand in a little wave. "So long, Grace."

Grace looked daggers at him, then softened and had to smile. "Bye, Rove. Glad to see you're yourself again."

She walked past Joan in the doorway and bumped her shoulder. Hard. "Later, Girardi."

"Later, Grace." Joan ignored the bump. She could feel no pain right now. She stepped inside the room and closed the door behind her. She looked at Adam and said, "I don't suppose they have 'Do Not Disturb' signs around here."

Adam shook his head, gazing at her wordlessly, wondering. As she approached him, she smiled a big, happy, genuine smile, almost laughing. She felt so much joy, awe, as if really seeing him for the first time. He smiled back, but his was a rather misshapen smile, because his mouth was hanging open.

Joan reached the foot of his bed, but she didn't walk around it to the chair. Instead, she leaned forward and climbed right up onto the bed. She crawled toward him slowly, her knees straddling his legs, until her face met his, and then she lowered herself onto his lap. Adam's brown eyes widened with anticipation, and his jaw dropped even further.

Her lips hovering just four inches from his, she laid her hands aside his face. She could hear his breath quickening. She was approaching that distance at which eyes must be closed, but she kept hers open as she said, "I love you."

Adam's eyes squeezed shut involuntarily. He sucked in a breath and bit at his bottom lip. When he regained his composure and opened his eyes, they were glistening. "I love you, too." He brought his hands up to her face, but in the mere second it took for him to do so, she had reached to her right and plucked the bowl of gelatin from the tray table. He was moving his lips to hers when he found a big spoonful of green Jello between them.

His eyes narrowed, and his head moved back. "What are you doing?" he asked, his voice low and breathless.

"You're hungry. You need to eat."

"I told you, I don't like the Jello."

"I know you don't like it. That's why I have to make you eat it." She waved the little mound of gelatin back and forth before his lips. It jiggled and caught the light from the window and sparkled like a pile of emeralds. "A bite of Jello, and then you get a kiss."

That was the end of the protest. Keeping his eyes locked to Joan's, Adam opened his mouth. She navigated the spoonful inside, and he closed his lips around it, kept them closed as she pulled out a clean spoon.

He leaned in to kiss her, and she pulled back.

"Swallow!" she commanded, pointing the spoon at him.

He rolled his eyes and swallowed, then opened his mouth to show her that it was empty.

"Good. Stay just like that," she said, setting the bowl back on the tray table.

Joan laid her hands on his face once more. She opened her own mouth and pressed it to his, her lips against his, her teeth against his, her tongue licking his Jello-sweetened tongue. It was the deepest, most full-on kiss they'd ever had. Adam grabbed at her with both hands and mouth, and it was like he was sucking her into him. Warm fingers of electricity shot through her. She had to fight the urge to press her body against his, because even in the heat of passion, she was aware of the wound in his stomach that needed to heal.

Adam himself seemed to have forgotten all about it, because he kept trying to pull her to him. Ignoring the IV tube, his arms wrapped around her back, then he relaxed his hold and dropped his hands to her waist, where they made their way underneath her shirt, his thumbs massaging her sides, then his fingers crawled around her back and slipped down over her jeans. With a firm grip on her rear, Adam pulled her deeper into his lap, and her tongue was still engulfed in his mouth when he gasped, and his teeth clenched and he had to pull away quickly to avoid biting her. Joan couldn't tell if this sudden spasm was due to arousal or pain.

"Ow!" he cried, followed by, "Dammit!" And that settled the question.

Her hands still on his face, she forced him to look at her. "Careful!" she admonished him. "Remember where you are." She scooted her hips back away from him, forcing him to remove his hands from their hold and rest them on her thighs.

Leaning back against the bed, he panted, "I'm with _you_, Jane. That's all I know." His face was as flushed as it had been at the height of his fever.

"You're in the hospital, Adam. And if you start blowing stitches, who are they going to blame -- the poor patient, or the girl in his lap?"

Adam nodded vigorously, taking her completely seriously. His sense of humor had abandoned him, driven out by a whole new horde of emotions. "Oh, God, Jane," he gasped, looking like he might cry, "I love you. I love you so much."

"I love you, too, Adam Rove. I love you very, very, very much." With each 'very' she wagged her head back and forth, and Adam's eyes followed her lips. He reached up to wrap a hand around the back of her neck and pull her in for a kiss, but she pulled away. "No-no-no!" she trilled.

She reached for the spoon, dipped another little mound of gelatin out of the bowl, and raised it to his lips.

"No! No more Jello," Adam begged.

"No more Jello, no more kisses," she replied. She cocked an eyebrow at him and asked, "What's it gonna be, Rove?"

"Chah! You're a cruel mistress, yo." But without another word, his mouth dove for the spoon and slurped the Jello right off of it.

"Good boy," she said. He looked at her expectantly, but instead of kissing him, she lifted her fingers up to trace his lips. His beautiful lips. He kissed her fingers, then gently sucked one into his mouth and bit it playfully. She lifted her free finger up to touch his nose, his long, articulate nose, the nose that looked like it belonged in a Renaissance painting. She hadn't even begun to contemplate the beauty of his expressive eyes when he interrupted her wonderwalk with –

"Yo! Jane! You're not holding up your end of the bargain here."

"You know," she said thoughtfully, "if you eat the whole bowl of Jello right now, I won't have to interrupt us at all."

Adam peered at her, his eyes wide and sparkling and in awe of her. "I think I've been outsmarted, yo."

Joan grinned victoriously and handed him the bowl and spoon. She lifted her hips and rolled over to sit next to him.

"Where are you going?" he asked, with real desperation in his voice.

It made her smile. "I'm not going anywhere. Eat."

Moving very carefully, Adam scooted over to give her room. Joan snuggled up against him, resting her head against his shoulder. She'd been this close to him before, but never had she felt so aware of him. She could feel the muscles in his arm. She could smell the overwashed cotton of the hospital gown, and the antiseptic scent of the bandage and medicine beneath the gown. She laid a hand gently on his stomach and rubbed softly, as if to heal him with her touch. When she felt a tremor run through him, she knew it wasn't from pain. She looked up at him, and he was gazing at her, his lips hovering right before hers, and she could tell that Jello was the furthest thing from his mind.

"Eat!" she commanded.

"Hold out your hand," he said, a mischievous glimmer in his eyes.

Suspecting what he was going to do, and liking it, Joan held out her hand. Adam spooned some gelatin into her palm and smiled lustily at her. He set the bowl down, took her hand and brought it up to his mouth. He slowly licked up all of the Jello, his tongue continuing to tickle her palm long after it was all gone.

Joan giggled, but she wasn't really laughing. Every flick of his tongue sent waves of heat through her, and soon she was far too hot for anything to be funny. She moved her hand down from his mouth, took him by the chin, and sat up to kiss him.

Now it was Adam's turn to pull away. "Jane," he teased, "I have to finish the Jello."

"Well, hurry up, will you?" she begged. She dropped her hand to his chest, where she occupied herself with tracing her fingers over the pattern in the hospital gown and imagining what was beneath it.

Having accomplished his goal, Adam left the spoon on the tray table, took the bowl in both hands, and lifted it to his mouth. He tilted his head back and slurped down all of the Jello in three big gulps.

Joan watched him in amazement. Adam saw the look on her face and almost laughed, which was problematic because he was trying to swallow. He covered his mouth, then tossed the empty bowl onto the tray table.

"Careful," she said.

Once he had successfully swallowed all of the Jello, neither of them spoke, but his eyes called her to him. Joan was leaning back against the bed with him now, their faces turned to each other, and the look on Adam's face made it hard for her to remember to be gentle. She still had one hand on his chest, and she wanted to dig into his flesh, but she consoled herself with the thought that there would be time enough for that, down the road somewhere, because Time had let her have him. And when she kissed him, their lips touching softly at first and then opening up and drawing each other in, she knew that she was kissing a miracle, and that was exactly what it felt like.

And when everything started to vibrate, Joan thought at first that it was just part of the little electric shocks running through her body. But then she heard a buzzing sound.

She pulled her lips away, and Adam was smiling, and she realized that the bed was moving, and Adam had his hand on a button.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"I just want to lie down next to you," he replied.

Joan leaned back against the bed, and they rode it down until it was flat and they were lying side by side.

"That's a cool trick," she said, propping herself up on one elbow so she could look down at him.

"I can't turn on my side," Adam explained. "It hurts. So I need you to come here." He tried to pull her onto his chest.

"I'm not getting on top of you, Adam. We've already gone further than we probably should in your condition, and I'd just end up hurting you." The disappointment in his face almost broke her heart, but she continued, "Besides, your dad's probably going to be back soon."

"That's OK. He's just bringing me some books and music and stuff. He doesn't have to stay."

"Don't you want to spend some time with him?"

"Right now? Not so much."

"But at some point we're probably going to get interrupted. A nurse could walk in or something."

Adam suddenly looked at her as if a terrifying thought had occurred to him. "I don't care if a nurse comes in. I don't care if my dad comes in. Just promise me you won't leave."

Joan gasped, so passionate was his plea. "I won't leave."

"You'll stay here all day?"

"I'll stay all day. But you do need to rest, so a lot of that time we'll just be watching TV or listening to music."

"OK, I can live with that."

Joan smiled down at him. She bent and kissed his cheek, planting a row of soft little kisses along the side of his face until she reached his ear, which she bit softly and then whispered, "I'm not going anywhere, Adam. I don't want to be anywhere you aren't."

"Me neither."

Adam turned his face so that his lips met hers, and Joan knew it would be a while before they turned on the television.

**THE END**

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